


Flowers From The Grave Of Our Friendship

by WaitingToBeBroken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Angst, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Part 2, Slow Burn, The Arrangement (Good Omens), but they don't know it!, they both love each other, with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 11:45:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingToBeBroken/pseuds/WaitingToBeBroken
Summary: Crowley is very good at temptation, not so good with what comes afterwards.Aziraphale knows demons don't love so he is happy to take anything Crowley would give him.Both of them are too blind to realize the thing they want is right in front of them.





	1. Rome 41 AD

"The problem is," Aziraphale slurred, the liquid in his glass sloshing around but never, miraculously, leaving it.

Crowley hummed as he lifted the jug of house brown and refilled his own glass. Under his glare the wine trembled slightly before turning a deep red colour.

"Hey!" Aziraphale all but whined, gazing mournfully at his own drink. Even in his drunken state he knew something was not right.

The demon stared at him and Aziraphale did his best to look as innocent as possible. Being an angel, he didn't find it that hard. Finally, Crowley just sighed before pushing the full glass towards him. Aziraphale giggled happily, his hair bobbing slightly and Crowley's eyes followed it.

Then the angel turned somber, as if he had suddenly remembered something. Which he had.

"The problem is," he started again, voice even wobblier. "The problem is..."

He tried again to remember what the problem was.

"Sex," he finally said, louder than he had intended. This attracted him the attention of everyone around them, which for Petronius' tavern really was saying something. Aziraphale tried to focus his eyes on the two dark circles, now staring at him, as much as glasses could stare.

"What about sex?"

"Well, that was the first thing Adam and Eve tried after they had the apple. You would think they would find a nice scroll to read but they just started rubbing their naked bodies together. I don't even see the appeal of it."

"Oh yeah, sex was always a big no-no upstairs, wasn't it?" Crowley shrugged, downing the brown liquid from Aziraphale's cup in one go.

The angel looked at the fidgeting hands in his lap.

"Not always."

Something seemed to occur to Crowley and his eyebrows narrowed.

"Have you... made an effort?" he asked suddenly, dangerously. Aziraphale could feel a blush climbing his cheeks.

"Well. _Yes_. It did get rather tedious expelling liquids the other way."

"And have you tried anything?" Crowley's eyebrows disappeared behind his sunglasses, his stare making the other squirm in his seat.

"I am an Angel," Aziraphale responded indignantly. It wasn't an answer, they both knew it. Something akin to a growl left the demon's mouth and, oh, Aziraphale really hated lying. "Maybe once or twice," he finally confessed, his whole body burning.

"Who with?" Crowley hissed, his body suddenly looming over the other, unnaturally tall.

Aziraphale wondered if you could blush to death. He dreaded to think of the paperwork associated with being discorporated, not to mention explaining to Gabriel _why_. He hung his head, staring pointedly at his fingers.

"Ah." A minute passed and suddenly the dim tavern was just a tad brighter. Crowley sat back in his chair, raising a glass that had filled itself without even being told. He shrugged slightly. "You are probably not doing it right"

The demon made a show of looking at his companion's lap, the quirk at the end of his lips raising.

"I _am_ doing it right," Aziraphale huffed. He was not an _idiot_. Besides you needn't even leave the tavern to see how it was done "right" and he had done it perfectly, thank you very much. "It just lays there."

He felt Crowley's eyes on him and he tugged at his toga, covering his knees. He hadn't been completely honest and that knowledge made something twist in his stomach. There was still last time, when he had let his mind wander. He had lamented the fact Crowley would probably make fun of him if he shared his troubles. This had quickly shifted into thinking about _Crowley_ , his smirk, his lips. The way his eyes sometimes would shine with mirth. And, well, his body had... reacted to those thoughts.

Aziraphale groaned inwardly, this had not been the best conversation to start when he was really really drunk.

Too engrossed in his own thoughts, he didn't hear the legs of a chair scrapping the floor towards him, until the demon was far closer than he had ever been. He jumped slightly when a warm hand fell on his thigh.

"I can help, if you want?" Crowley offered in a voice that made the angel feel funny. His glasses were sitting on top of his head and there was something dark and heavy in his eyes as he pinned down Aziraphale with his stare.

The angel stared back at him as if hypnotized. The hand on his thigh was rubbing small circles and sending flashes of warmth throughout his whole body. He knew the other was expecting something from him, there was a question in Crowley's eyes, hidden behind the layers but all Aziraphale could even think of was how warm he was.

As if centuries later, the demon's words cut through the fog of his mind and he gasped. He, of course, had to refuse. They were an angel and a demon, hereditary enemies, they could not be _friends_ , let alone anything Crowley was implying. Not to mention, Lust was one of the original sins and Aziraphale would _never_.

"We are in public," instead, he managed and even he had to wince at how weak his argument sounded.

The hand sneaked under his toga, moving even higher as the demon chuckled.

"Nobody isss gonna notice." Crowley's forked tongue slipped out and Aziraphale couldn't help but trace the way it ran over the demon's lips. "Call it a demonic miracle."

Aziraphale tried to say something but he wasn't sure what exactly. Wasn't sure if he even remembered how to breathe. He swallowed, trying to chase the dryness in his throat, just as the hand wrapped around him.

It was unbelievable, it was unlike anything he had ever felt and he had been in Heaven. Crowley's hand was warm and soft around him and when he moved, the angel had to bite down on his lips to stifle his moans.

"Aziraphale." Crowley's voice sounded far away and strange. The other needed a couple of seconds to realize it was because that teasing tilt that always accompanied Crowley's words was gone. " _Angel_. Tell me to stop."

Angel, Aziraphale liked that, even if it was just a remark on his species. It felt close, intimate, like it belonged coming from Crowley's mouth. He knew that if he just said the words Crowley would stop, he didn't know how he knew that but he did. The demon would withdraw his hand and they would go back to drinking mud water and having drunken conversations. He would never feel the way Crowley's hand wrapped around his cock again, the way his wrist twisted when he went up. He would never see the demon's eyes glow with something dark and primitive that made Aziraphale feel weak.

But he _wanted_. And he had wanted it for far too long.

Aziraphale shook his head, more violently than he had intended.

"Oh, you like that," Crowley purred in his ear and Aziraphale yelped. "Ssshh, angel, even my miraclesss have bounds."

But his hand didn't stop, every stroke just a little bit faster, a little bit hotter and Aziraphale could do nothing but whimper. Crowley's thumb swiped over his head and his back arched, he had to curl his fingers around the chair to stop himself from falling.

"Open your eyesss," the demon commanded and there was something in his voice that made Aziraphale's body obey without a second thought.

The angel hadn't even realized he had closed them but he could see why he had. Staring at Crowley, as the demon devoured his whole body with his eyes, he was so close he could see the light blush on the other's cheeks, the way his throat glistened. He was so close he could smell the wine on his breath, the oysters they had eaten, and underneath it all what could best be described as _Crowley_.

It was all rather too much.

"God, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered his name like a prayer, like it was all the same. "Something's happening."

He felt like he had been climbing a mountain and suddenly he was falling. He was burning and it almost hurt but in a pleasant way. Like the first time he had ever felt sunshine on his skin. He slumped forward, head resting on the table as his whole body shook slightly. This had been unlike any other earthly pleasure he had tried and he suspected it was because the one he had shared it wasn't exactly "earthly".  He smiled softly.

"Told you. You were doing it wrong."

Aziraphale could hear the shrug in Crowley's voice and it made the smile freeze on his lips. Moments later he heard the other fall back in his chair, heard his glass scratch the table as the demon lifted it.

Right. He should have known, of course. Crowley was a demon, that was quite literally his job. How proud he must be of himself, tempting an angel. Hell must hail him a hero, Aziraphale thought bitterly. Crowley, who got an angel to soil himself, with a demon's name on his lips. And here Aziraphale was, thinking it was real.

He raised his head slowly. People around them were laughing and living their lives, when the angel felt like his had just ended.

"Of course." He rearranged his toga modestly, even thought just moments ago he had been anything but. "Yes, that was very informative. Thank you for the demonstration, Master Crowley." There was just a slight edge in his voice and he swallowed around it.

Crowley was looking at him, his eyes two cold yellow stones.

"Did you want me to...," Aziraphale trailed off, giving a pointed look at the demon's own slightly opened garment. A creature of habit, he did it more out of politeness than anything, as well as to fill the silence around them.

Crowley's eyes grew even colder.

"Don't bother," he growled, waving a hand dismissively. In a moment he was gathering his glasses from the table and leaving, not even a glance towards the angel.

'Off to another _temptation_ , probably,' Aziraphale thought bitterly.


	2. England 1595

_Rome 418 AD_

Crowley knew it was his own damn fault. It had taken him a few decades to admit this to himself. It had taken him a century before he stopped having the urge to kick his skull in when he thought about Aziraphale. And he thought about him often.

He was making great progress with convincing himself he did not, in fact, need the angel.

And then Rome burnt down. He shouldn't have cared, he was a demon and he had spent the last three hundred years not caring. Besides, it's not like Aziraphale could _die_ , the angel was probably going to pop back quickly into heaven, get issued a new body and come back. There was no reason for Crowley to worry, not that he really was.

A new body. The breath he didn't really need got stuck in his throat. Just when he had finally found out how the previous one looked coming undone.

He was a demon of means and connections, he could find a single angel prone to flashy restaurants and big cities. Easy.

It took him nearly 8 years.

Finally, he heard a rumour of a strange man dressed in white, who would wander the streets just outside Hispalis. It was said if you saw him, he would bring you fortune. Fortune, or as Crowley thought desperately, maybe a miracle. It took another few short months, before he was bursting into a tiny hut, the name of the angel leaving his lips.

"What is all of this?" he asked, finally, as he took in Aziraphale's home. There were books, then again there were always books where the angel was. The problem was everything else besides the books, which was nothing. Nada. Rows and rows of books stacked as high as the roof and a tiny little desk over which Aziraphale was hunched over. There was dust everywhere. There was dust on the angel himself.

Had Aziraphale gone mad? Was it Crowley's fault? He knew he should have checked on him, but it had hurt too much and now, now it was too late.

He made his way around the columns of books and shook the other's shoulders. Aziraphale felt cold under his touch, unlike last time and he mentally slapped himself. Really, not the place right now.

"Oh. Crowley." Aziraphale finally blinked at him, before turning back to the scroll he was scribbling onto. "Is there anything you wanted?"

"Anything I... Angel, _what_ are you doing?" If Crowley wasn't a demon he would have grown hysterical. As it was, he told himself, he was just slightly worried.

"It's just a little project I have been working on." Aziraphale dropped the quill and turned to face him fully. There was something hard in his eyes, that made Crowley finally let go of his shoulders and take a step back. It also made him feel a little ill. "Why are you here, Crowley?"

"Rome was attacked," he finally said as if that explained everything. In a way it did. 'Rome was attacked and you always did favour Rome so I thought you burnt with it and I had to find you.' Not that he could say any of this, of course.

"Well, I'm sure Hell would send you a glowing commendation," Aziraphale noted icily. Crowley was not used to being on the receiving end of the anger the angel reserved only for the most horrible of humans and cold soup. He understood. He had fucked up last time, he had become greedy and taken something Aziraphale had never wanted to give him. But he was also a demon and as a rule, they didn't apologise.

He busied himself with one of the books on the angel's desk. He stared at the title.

"This burned with the Library of Alexandria."

He remembered because he knew it was one of Aziraphale's favourites. The angel loved it so much, Crowley would have rushed into a burning building on the off chance he could save it. In this particular instance, he actually had.

"I know. I was there." The scribbles got slightly more forceful.

With new eyes, Crowley took in his surroundings. Aziraphale didn't need to sleep or eat but even for him this must have taken decades, if not centuries.

"It so appeared I had some free time on my hands," Aziraphale shrugged, somehow having read his thoughts even with his back turned towards him. The tips of his ears were bright pink and in any other case Crowley would have thought it delicious.

Now it just make him feel so sick, like his stomach wanted to escape his body. He wanted to apologise, but the words were stuck in the tar in his throat.

"Do you remember dear old Matella?" he tried, something cheerful in his voice that sounded strange even to his own ears. "She was _something_ "

He perched on the little desk. It looked older than time itself and for a minute Crowley was afraid it would crumble under him. Aziraphale gazed up at him, eyes big and uncertain and that fire just under his belly roared its ugly head again. It didn't bother Crowley, he had controlled it for millennia, he could stop it now.

"She was the best librarian I have ever met," Aziraphale said slowly. "And the only woman."

"Yeah, well, women aren't really allowed with the "sacred texts", are they?" Crowley let a smirk twist his lips. Maybe he had a chance.

"I don't think anyone told Matella that." There was a little smile now, on the angel's lips. One Crowley hadn't seen in so very long and it made his eyes hurt. Like he had been in the dark too long and now, there was a supernova right in front of him. He stared a little.

Aziraphale laughed and Crowley hadn't know how much he had longed to hear that sound. "She did not like you," the angel giggled.

"She used to throw scrolls at my head the moment I walked in!"

"Remarkable woman. You know," Aziraphale leaned towards him and Crowley tracked the movement hungrily, "I know I'm not supposed to but I checked. She ended up in Heaven"

The demon snorted, "Probably runs the place now."

Aziraphale beamed at him. Crowley swallowed, his throat suddenly as dry as the desert around the Garden.

"Do you want help with that? I can probably recall some books on torture or something," he offered after a moment of peaceful silence, broken only by the angel's quill. As a reward he received another smile and a chair materialized out of thin air

Aziraphale was offering him his friendship and incidentally, that was all Crowley wanted. It had to be.

* * *

 

_England 1595_

"Oh, I simply love this!" Aziraphale gushed, hands clasping together in front of his chest.

"You are an Angel, you love everything," Crowley scoffed, eyes tracing the blush painting the other's neck. His lips were burning. Instead, he dumped the few pears and an orange into the angel's waiting hands.

"Oh, thank you, my dear." Aziraphale beamed at him. Crowley chose to ignore it, instead focusing on the scene before them.

"It's Shakespeare's newest one," the angel hurried to explain, practically bouncing on the spot. "Their families are mortal enemies, you see, but they have eyes for no one but each other. It's rather tragic, really."

Crowley ordered his stomach to stop feeling queasy and instead rolled his eyes, "I always preferred the funny ones, me."

"Are you busy today? Or are you off to some... temptation?"

The angel's blue eyes looked at him, with something Crowley refused to recognise as hope. He waved a hand dismissively. "Naaah, got the whole day off. Pity I'd have to spend it watching this junk."  
  
He glued his eyes to the stage, even as he could feel the happiness rolling off the other in waves. If Aziraphale had been a demon, Crowley would have been sure he was simply tormenting him with all his smiles and little touches and his _'dear'_ s. It would have been easier that way, he would have known it meant nothing.

It still didn't. Not in the way Crowley was desperate for it to.

They were friends. They drank together, argued over stupid little things, went to plays together. They even had the Arrangement. It wasn't the angel's fault Crowley wanted so much more. The bastard had probably even forgotten, Satan knew that unless it was book related, Aziraphale had the attention span of a blade of grass.

As the play progressed, Crowley retrieved a bottle of wine he had stashed under his shirt, much to the other's amazement.

"Crowley, there was positively no space for this under there," the angel reprimanded him, even as he miracled two glasses for them both. Crowley just wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk.

"Hush now, you can't possibly expect me to survive this sober."

It didn't take long for Crowley to notice that as the contents of the bottle decreased so did the angel's happiness. By the time the demon was procuring a second one Aziraphale was not even smiling. Crowley didn't see the big deal of the play. They were sixteen, for Hea- Hell's sake and they had been infuriated with each other for a week. Let them get it on just one time and that would be the end of it, Crowley would have said.

It would have been entirely different if Romeo had been pining for Juliet for four millennia. Then, when he had finally gathered his courage to confess, in his own way, he had been shot down and they hadn't talked for four hundred years. All numbers, of course, were completely random.

The play was finally over and Crowley was already looking forward to spending the night at Aziraphale's, drinking and discussing just how much of an utter bullshit it had been. Hopefully, erasing the grim expression twisting the angel's delicate features. Apparently, the other did not share his desire as when William stopped them to chat, Aziraphale did not simply brush him off. No, instead the angel had a smile on his face, polite and not quite reaching his eyes, but Crowley suspected he was the only one who could notice that.

His eyes narrowed when the human rested a hand on Aziraphale biceps as he laughed at whatever they were talking about. Crowley decided it was time to go. He slithered next to his friend and hooked his arm around Aziraphale's and tugged slightly.

"Come on, angel, let's get you home," Crowley whispered, making sure it was loud enough for William to hear. With delight, he noted the way the man's eyes widened and he let go of Aziraphale like he was burning. The angel, as always, was completely oblivious.

* * *

 

A few bottles later and Aziraphale was joining Crowley on the floor of his tiny room. The angel stared at him for a few seconds before groaning, his head falling between his open palms.

"What's wrong?" the demon asked, worry lacing his voice. It didn't really matter, though, as he knew Aziraphale was so drunk he would not remember a thing come next morning. Crowley rather enjoyed that stage of his friend's drunkenness, it usually meant he could get away with a hand on the other's shoulder or, if he was feeling bolder- his thigh.

"I don't think we should see each other anymore, Crowley," Aziraphale slurred behind his hands.

Something very cold wrapped around the demon's heart, squeezing impossibly tight. He felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was drowning and he shut his eyes. What he needed to do now was leave, before he could start crying or worse, do something to the angel. The angel, who apparently was still talking.

"... and they just loved each other, Crowley. They did nothing wrong. But their families were stupid and would not let them be happy. They just kissed and then a lot of people died. I don't want people to die."

Crowley blinked eyes that stung. Aziraphale was still talking, something about fate and the duality of man and how, really, they were just two nice kids with their first crush, who were they hurting exactly. As if from far away, the demon followed his own hand, moving from his lap to the back of his friend's head and burrowing in his locks. Aziraphale's hair was soft, just like Crowley had imagined, and before he knew it, the demon was closing the distance between them and kissing him. It was nothing but a peck, a slide of lips, and yet Crowley's heart was thumping so fast he thought it would jump out of his chest.

"See, we kissed. No one died," he chuckled, although it came out shakily.

He had crossed a line the angel had placed so many centuries ago, he knew he would pay for that. The way Aziraphale looked after he had been kissed burning his eyelids every time he closed his eyes would be just one part of it.

The angel, however, was just looking at him, deep in thought. Finally, he just shook his head.

"That's not how they kissed, though," he stated with the confidence only those who were _really_ drunk had.

Then, Aziraphale was kissing him. It was a little awkward and wet and Crowley's first and best kiss. His hands curled around the angel's waist, unsure whether to bring him closer or push him away. He knew he had to stop his friend, he was stupid to make the same mistake twice, but then Aziraphale's tongue was in his mouth and he didn't care anymore.

"You are ticklish," Aziraphale giggled when they separated, nose scrunching at the other's goatee. He was the perfect picture of debauchery, his lips red and parted, his cheeks heated and hair sticking every-which way. Crowley wanted to run a hand through it, wanted to taste that blush, bite those lips. Instead, he raised himself on shaky feet.

"And you are drunk. Come on, angel, let's get you to bed," he said, feeling more exhausted than he ever had.

He held out a hand and Aziraphale's own slipped into his, warm. Crowley searched his eyes for something, regret, pain, anything that would mean the demon had cold-heartedly murdered and buried their friendship.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale's voice sounded small. He squeezed the other's hand and Crowley was surprised to note he was still holding onto it.

"What?" Crowley tried to sound annoyed because the alternative was far worse.  
  
"The thing is, they didn't kiss just once."

A groan fell from Crowley's lips. Aziraphale was torturing him. Somehow he had found out about Crowley's feelings and now he was having his sick twisted fun pretending he wanted this. Giving Crowley just enough not to _be_ enough. With anyone else, he would have been sure this was the case but the angel in front of him was just too pure. There was real fear in his eyes and he looked so small, so vulnerable.

Crowley dragged him closer and cradled one of his cheeks in his hand, kissing him gently. His fingers ran through those soft curls, memorising how heavy they felt. The demon wanted to remember everything, Aziraphale's taste, the soft moans falling from his lips, the way his arms felt, as they curled around Crowley's hips.

It was going to be one kiss. He was not going to take advantage, not again. But the kiss grew hungry, centuries of desire he had tried to stifle so deep inside his very soul, finally coming to the surface. Not that the angel was better, kissing him with desperation that made Crowley's heart ache, teeth biting at his lips. This was everything the demon had ever wanted and he was _weak_.

Crowley didn't even know how he found himself sitting on the sofa, Aziraphale's warm body on top of him, as the angel peppered kisses all over his face and neck. They were so close he could feel the other's heart beating against him, his heat, the proof Aziraphale wanted this as much as him pressing against his stomach. With every little squirm the angel brushed against him and it took Crowley's every ounce of self-control he could find in his whole body not to push his hips up, towards the curve of the other's backside. He could imagine it, his cock so close to Aziraphale's own and he would grasp those soft hips and he would just rut against him.

Crowley tried to remind himself, Aziraphale was kissing him and that was better than even his best dreams. But he was a demon and he was greedy, his hands itched to miracle all of their clothes away.

As if reading his thoughts, the angel's fingers left their place around his neck and started working the buttons of Crowley's shirt. The demon gasped, his body arching closer.

Crowley didn't need any more encouragement to reach for the angel's own clothes, but he lacked even half of Aziraphale's patience. One ripping sound later and the other's shirt was sliding to the floor, revealing white, soft skin. Aziraphale moaned, his head falling back as Crowley lapped at his neck, then moved even lower.

Suddenly, the angel was pushing him away.

"Wait, wait, please," Aziraphale pleaded frantically and, in a heartbeat, the demon was letting him go and moving back, as far away as their position could allow. Before Crowley could even ask what was wrong, what had _he_ done wrong, the angel was closing his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration. The demon could feel the tell-tale sign of a miracle but could not see anything different in the other or the room. At least, not until Aziraphale opened his eyes and they were clear and focused.

Of course. Well, he had had his fun and now it was time to pay for it. In all fairness, as a demon, he had received far more than he ever deserved. Crowley stared at the angel in his lap, his eyes cold and unfeeling, the perfect mask, as he waited for the inevitable anger.

But Aziraphale was not angry. No, perfect, gorgeous, completely _sober_ Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him.

"Figured it wouldn't be fair for me to be wasted," the angel confessed, shyly. Crowley almost wanted to get him drunk again just so he could see the boldness that had made Aziraphale push him into the sofa, return. Then again, having the angel completely aware of his actions and still desiring him... the thought did strange things to his body.

A flick of his wrist and Aziraphale was laying under him, completely undressed.

"Tell me if I'm going too fast." He tried to sound reassuring, but his voice was raspy with need and he couldn't stop his hands from touching every inch of that soft skin underneath him. He watched the way Aziraphale's eyes ran over his body, the way they darkened when they fell on his cock, hanging between them, arching for attention.

"Please," the angel finally begged and that was all Crowley needed.

Suddenly, his hands were everywhere, his mouth sucking and biting, eliciting the sweetest sounds the demon had ever heard. He wrapped long fingers around Aziraphale's cock, making him thrust in his fist. It had been so very long ago but he still remembered, _had_ _remembered_ so many times, exactly what to do. A whimper fell from Aziraphale's parted lips and he swallowed it hungrily.  
  
"Crowley, please, can I? Too?" To illustrate his point, the angel brushed his hand between Crowley's thighs.

"Yesss." There was so much need in his voice that if he was able to think he would have been embarrassed. But then Aziraphale's fingers were around him and he could do nothing but hiss and pray to whoever listened to demons the angel would not change his mind.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?," Aziraphale was fussing, the hand currently not making Crowley experience _Heaven_ , fidgeting with the edge of the sofa cover. How he could sound so proper, in the middle of this all, was beyond Crowley and he quickly decided to change that.

" _Angel_ ," he growled, his fangs flashing, before he let them sink in Aziraphale's throat.

A guttural sound and the angel was shaking underneath him. It took Crowley just one look at him, his flushed face and pink lips, and he was following, thrusting in Aziraphale's slightly painful grip.

It was a little pathetic. Crowley slumped forward bonelessly.

He didn't know how long they stayed silent, as they both struggled to catch their breaths, but it was just enough for fear to bloom in Crowley's stomach. No matter what had happened, it had all started with Aziraphale drunk. He had taken advantage last time, making the angel just this side of horny for him not to stop Crowley. He knew that, he had spent centuries beating himself _over_ that.

This time it wasn't much different. The angel had been in his lap, half-naked and begging for it by the time he had sobered up. And he remembered all too well how Aziraphale had handled it all, last time. Something coiled around his insides, Crowley didn't think he could survive another three hundred years without seeing him.

"Perhaps it would be best to discuss this?" Aziraphale asked suddenly and Crowley shifted slightly so he could look at him. The angel was peering at him through his eyelashes, so gorgeous and pure and... Crowley could not bear to lose him.

"Nothing to discuss, angel," he shrugged it off. "We were horny, we did it. Can't see how different it would be from the Arrangement."

He held his breath as Aziraphale closed his eyes. When the angel finally opened them, eternities later, they shone brightly in the moonlight.

"The Arrangement, part 2?" Aziraphale asked and Crowley laughed. It was a sharp sound.

"Exactly."

The demon should have been happy, he had received more than he had ever imagined he would. Somehow, it didn't feel like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, folks, this will take a while. They are VERY stupid.


	3. France 1793

_England 1790_  
  
"Say you weren't an angel. What would you be?"  
  
It was a very strange question, especially given the fact they were not even drinking. Not drinking anything alcoholic, that is. Crowley was still sporting a hangover from forgetting to sober up yesterday and the other thought it cruel to have wine without him.  
  
"But I _am_ an angel," Aziraphale frowned.  
  
His friend groaned in the way he reserved only for when he found the other particularly dim.  
  
"I get that, angel. I meant if you didn't have to run around doing... _Good_ all day." Crowley spit out the word with such disgust that it made Aziraphale chuckle.  
  
"Oh," Aziraphale mused, setting the teacup in his lap gently. There was this one thing, something he had dreamed of for years now. It was all rather silly, actually. He hazarded a glance towards the demon, fully expecting him to have moved on on something more interesting, but Crowley was watching him expectantly, even leaning forward a little bit.  
  
"Well, I think I would rather like to have a bookshop, really."  
  
"A bookshop?" the demon fell back in his chair, laughing.  
  
"Crowley, please don't laugh."  
  
His friend held up his hands. "I'm not, I'm not," he insisted, while very much laughing. It took him a few seconds to calm down, while Aziraphale quietly huffed, and then he asked again, "Seriously, though, a bookshop?"  
  
"I don't see what's so funny." There was a little pout in the angel's voice. "Oh, it will have rows and rows of books, and there will be a lot of sunlight. I will put plants on the windowsills and just all sorts of trinkets all around. And armchairs! Tartan ones, they are nifty! And I will have a storage room for all my first editions. Oh and..."  
  
Crowley waved at him to stop with an urgency that implied he was fighting off another laughing fit.  
  
"I get _that_. But you do know to have a bookshop you need to actually _sell_ the books, right?"  
  
Oh. Aziraphale suddenly deflated. Yes, that might pose a problem.  
  
Finally, he tried to smile. "It's a stupid, old fantasy, anyway."  
  
Judging by the way Crowley scowled at him, he didn't think he had done a good job.

* * *

 

_England 1791_  
  
"Crowley, that looks strange."  
  
"What do you mean, "that looks strange"? You can't even see. Careful now, there is a step here."  
  
"I mean to _other_ people! Two strange men, one of them in a blindfold, wandering the streets of London in broad day light. People will think you are kidnapping me!"  
  
"Eh," Aziraphale could hear the shrug in his voice. "Won't hurt my reputation. Okay, we are here, you can take it off."  
  
Aziraphale did and then scoffed, looking around. "I don't see why I needed to wear that silly thing, we have been in Soho a million times. Actually, there is a very nice bakery just down the street and I am feeling rather peckish. Shall we, my dear?"  
  
"Aziraphale!" Crowley snapped at him and the angel turned towards him in shock. The other never acted this way unless it was serious, and this hardly counted. His friend nodded to the building they were facing, a shop just on the corner of the street.  
  
"It's a shop," Aziraphale noted, confusedly.  
  
Crowley smiled at him, actually smiled, before producing a set of keys from his jacket. Aziraphale smiled back.  
  
"Oh, that's wonderful, Crowley. I have always said that real estate is very important, especially in a growing city such as London. What are you going to use it for?"  
  
The demon's brows furrowed. "Use it-? It's for you, you idiot. For your bookshop, remember?"  
  
Aziraphale stared at him. He couldn't have heard right. His friend could not seriously be giving him a whole bookshop after one silly remark, almost a year ago. He couldn't actually have known how much it meant for the angel, how it had been a regular fantasy of his own for years now.  
  
Crowley's nose scrunched as he looked at Aziraphale, at the building and then back at him.  
  
"I suppose it is a bit small. But it has storage rooms for your first editions and I went over the plans, you can miracle plenty of space, without bothering the neighbours too much. Unless it's not what you want anymore?"  
  
That frown was what made the angel snap from his stupor. How dare he make Crowley feel like his gift was inadequate! No, Aziraphale ought to say something, stop this madness with the demon fretting over this _perfect_ gift.  
  
"Thank you," was all he could manage. He shook his head, then decided it was not enough. Promptly, he gathered the demon in his arms and hugged him.  
  
Aziraphale might have hugged him longer than was normal between friends. And he might have squeezed one too many times. But it was a nice hug, even though Crowley's arms hung limply on either side of his body instead of around the angel, where he desperately wanted them. Despite that, the demon felt so soft in his arms, so right, Aziraphale could not make himself move away.  
  
"I do not know what to say! I mean it, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so much, my dear." Aziraphale squished his friend for the last time before letting him go.  
  
"Don't mention it," Crowley said softly, looking slightly dazed.  
  
"But-"  
  
"Don't." The demon's voice had returned back to normal as he pointed threateningly at Aziraphale. "Or I'm taking this back."  
  
The angel just beamed, surely the other couldn't mind that. Crowley scoffed at him but didn't say anything else.  
  
"How did you manage to buy this, anyway? It must have cost a fortune."  
  
Crowley smirked. "Crime actually pays, unlike your lot. And I miiight have told Hell I needed a considerable amount of money to bribe a politician in America."  
  
"Won't they find out?"  
  
Aziraphale could not bear to think what might happen if Hell found out about them. It had always been one of his biggest fears and now there was something material that connected the demon to him. He had brought him a bookshop with Hell's money. At this point, he couldn't even use the excuse he was tempting an angel- this was something one did for a friend or... someone even closer.  
  
He had to return the bookshop. It would hurt now, but living without Crowley, that would be unbearable.  And Aziraphale would sacrifice a thousand bookshops for the demon to have even the smallest of chances to be safe.  
  
Crowley waved at him, dismissively. "Don't worry about it, they never check. Also, don't you dare give me this look, you are taking this shop and that's final."  
  
"Tha-"  
  
"And do not thank me. Come on, are you going to stay here all day or do you want to see the inside of it too?"  
  
Without waiting for an answer, Crowley headed towards the building, Aziraphale on his heels, feeling like an excited puppy.

* * *

  
  
_France 1793_  
  
The thing was, Aziraphale was an angel and as such he could feel love. He rather enjoyed that. He could feel the tentative flashes of new-born love, the burning passion of young love, that always left him feeling a little bit flushed. Or, his favourite, the one he could feel from old couples in the park, warm, like the sun in the spring, gently caressing your face.  
  
Aziraphale could sense love. So he knew Crowley didn't have any towards him. He was okay with that, of course he was. His friend was a demon, he quite possibly _could not_ feel love.  
  
He still checked, ever so often, because Aziraphale was hopeful and hope hurt. There were flashes sometimes, that would make his hearts skip just enough beats for him to wonder if it might stop completely. Never for long, however, and never more. No, Crowley felt the same way now as he had once, back in the Garden.  
  
Aziraphale was okay with that.  
  
"I have been thinking," the angel said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the impromptu tour he was giving of the palace of Versailles. He was pleasantly fed and back in his old clothes and he was feeling bold.  
  
"That's a nice change," Crowley scoffed, but waved a hand for him to go on.  
  
"You have been exceedingly nice to me. First the bookshop, now saving me from the guillot..."  
  
A growl stopped him and Crowley was suddenly in his face, gripping his collar.  
  
"I told you to never use that word in my presence, ever again."  
  
The demon's teeth flashed, longer than normal and Aziraphale gulped. He tried desperately not to stare and to fight the blush, spreading from where Crowley's fingers were touching bare skin.  
  
"Ah, yes, quite right, dear. Please forgive me," he babbled, due to their proximity, but mostly because of the way it made his body react. A second growl and Crowley was letting him go and stepping away. Aziraphale suddenly felt very cold. "Right. Well, why don't you take a seat?"  
  
He could see the demon's brows narrow, before he fell in the plush red couch in the middle of the ballroom. The angel almost rolled his eyes at Crowley's demonstrative extravagance but was too anxious of what he was about to do. Of the way the demon might react to it.  
  
"I know you don't like it when I voice my appreciation. So I thought, maybe I can show it."  
  
Aziraphale sunk to his knees. Crowley's reaction was instant.  
  
"No," he yelped and tried to get up so suddenly, the angel barely had any time to lay a hand on his knees and press him down.  
  
Aziraphale watched as the demon carefully removed the glasses from his face, tucked them away and then pressed a hand over his eyes, so hard it _must_ have hurt. For a few seconds, there was no sound, only Crowley's shallow breaths and the angel wondered if he hadn't ruined everything.  
  
"Listen," the demon started, in the sort of tired way one did when he had to explain the same thing to a rather slow child. Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. "I don't help you because I expect something in return. I don't. I have never wanted anything like _that_ from you. You are my... friend."  
  
The last word, Crowley hissed like it burnt his tongue. Like he didn't really want to say it but, nonetheless, it had slipped out when his brain wasn't looking. Aziraphale shifted again. Maybe he had been wrong. He knew Crowley didn't love him but he had made it perfectly clear he desired him, the angel had thought. Then again, the few times they had even done anything, they had both been perfectly drunk.  
  
Perhaps Crowley had simply needed physical release and Aziraphale had just been there. The demon could have anyone he wanted, why would he want Aziraphale, an old angel, who had grown soft in the millennia. He let his head hang low, missing the way something dark and looking dangerously like regret flashed across the other's face.  
  
But Aziraphale had been called a whole dictionary of things- naive, simple-minded, oblivious. He had never, however, been called anything close to a coward. The angel looked up at the other who was still looking at him as if he was something particularly combustible.  
  
"Please?" he tried again, hoping that when Crowley rejected him he would be kind enough not to stop talking to him completely.  
  
To his utter surprise, the demon nodded, then pointedly looked away. Still, it was all the encouragement Aziraphale needed. He willed his hands to stop trembling, and while he was at it, for his stomach to stop feeling like a devious maze with no exit. Almost fearful any moment now he would be stopped, he made quick work of the other's buttons before sliding those impossibly tight pants down and revealing soft milky skin. Without thinking, he dipped down and laid a kiss on the inside of those thighs that had made their home in Aziraphale's dreams almost two hundred years ago. They were just as soft as they looked and they smelled perfect, just like Crowley.  
  
Something occurred to him and he straightened up a little.  
  
"Dear boy," he started, looking anywhere but his companion. "Please don't expect... You see, I haven't exactly _done_ this before." Aziraphale finally hazarded a glance at Crowley, only to find the demon looking at him like he was particularly stupid. He fought off a wince, he really was not making a good case for himself and any second now the demon would remember he could have someone more experienced than Aziraphale, someone better. "I did get some tips on the matter, last time I was here," he offered weakly.  
  
Long fingers curled around his hair and twisted, tipping his hair and making him look into Crowley's dark eyes "From whom?"  
  
Aziraphale bit his smile when he remembered the girl, one of the King's mistresses. She had really been rather lovely. Not a lot of people sought to help someone else, especially not an angel, who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to help _them_. But she had listened to him and she had held his hand and she had said, 'You know, the best way to a man's affection is with intimacy."  
  
Crowley was no man and he had no affection to give. But this was close enough. It had to be.  
  
A thought, sudden and sharp, made his smile falter. "Oh, I suppose she is dead now," he said softly.  
  
"That's not going to stop _me_ ," Crowley growled from above him, but made no effort to continue so Aziraphale turned his attention to the task at hand.  
  
His hands slightly shaking, he slid Crowley's underwear down, over his narrow hips. He stared.  
  
Aziraphale had seen it once, and then maybe a few more times, during particularly dark nights when he couldn't quite control where his mind would take him. However, last time Crowley had been so distractingly gorgeous, almost _ethereal_ and the angel had been desperate to be touched.  
  
At that time, Aziraphale had also believed he was finally getting what he had longed for for centuries. He hadn't paid attention, hadn't thought to memorize the way Crowley looked above him.  
  
Hadn't thought he would need to.  
  
But it was here now, hard and red, and long. Crowley had made an _effort_. Aziraphale wanted it inside him, the sudden thought made him flush and something in his belly stir.  
  
The fingers in his hair were massaging his scalp gently.  
  
"You don't have to do this, you know," a small voice said from above him and Aziraphale would have thought it was coming from within him, if not for the fact it sounded utterly _wrecked._  
  
The angel shook his head. And swallowed Crowley.      
  
His cock felt heavy against Aziraphale's tongue, and so big, filling him in the most delicious way. He tried to relax, the fog in his mind making it exceedingly hard, and moved a few times, experimentally. A broken moan fell from Crowley's mouth, drawing the angel's eyes.  
  
The demon looked gorgeous, head thrown back, his long neck exposed, the curls framing his head, once perfect- now damp and loose from the little beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Aziraphale didn't even know the other could sweat. He always looked so perfect, but now, now he looked even more so, he looked _real_. And the angel had done that. He couldn't be doing that bad, then.  
  
With the sudden boost to his confidence, Aziraphale decided it might be his first time but that certainly did not mean it would be a bad one. With one hand, he opened Crowley's thighs enough for him to nestle inside them, miracling away the clothes that stood in his way. The other, he curled around the base of the demon's penis and gave a few experimental pulls, just like Crowley had done, centuries ago. He was awarded by a chocked gasp that made him hum happily.  
  
Aziraphale moved a few times and before he knew it, he was building a steady rhythm. He felt the fingers in his head tighten their hold and suddenly, he was being held into place while the demon thrust into him violently, while he used his mouth and Aziraphale could do nothing but try to keep it open. Something ran through his body and coiled just below his stomach, he could not believe how that made him feel, so deliciously _used_. He tried to stifle the whimper that fell from his lips.  
  
It lasted just a few seconds and, far too soon, Crowley was stopping, leaving his mouth, his fingers snatching back like the angel was holy.  
  
"Sssorry," the demon gasped. Aziraphale wanted to reassure him it was okay, he loved it, but his throat was raw. His throat was raw because Crowley had just been in him, and the thought made him burn so hot he couldn't even remember how to form words. Somewhere, from above him, the other had started talking and he tried to pay attention, he really did. "... you want usss to ssstop?"  
  
Not trusting his voice, Aziraphale reached out for the demon's hand, paying special attention not to intertwine their fingers, like his soul burned for him to do. Instead, he grabbed it and gently put it back to its rightful place, on top of his white locks. He could feel Crowley staring at him, his eyes, two deep fire pits, but he could not bring himself to raise his gaze. One look, Aziraphale was sure, and the other would _know_ and then this, and possibly their friendship, would be over.  
  
No, he could not risk that, not even for something his whole body ached for. He decided, instead, to draw Crowley back into his mouth and enjoy the little mangled moan of surprise this induced. It was the best sound he had ever heard and he wanted more of it.  
  
He went slow this time, his rhythm teasing, his fingers- nothing but feathers. His tongue was curling around Crowley's cock, like it was the best thing he had ever tasted and it was. He could feel the demon getting frustrated, the sudden hitch in his breathing if Aziraphale picked up the pace just slightly, the way his fingers curled and uncurled around his hair. Like he wanted to hold him and use him again. He probably did, Aziraphale realized, but he never would, not consciously.  
  
Crowley really was the worst demon he knew. And Aziraphale loved him for it.  
  
"Pleassse," the demon begged from above him brokenly, like someone who didn't know exactly what they wanted. What they were allowed. It made something twist in the angel's stomach, something primal and hungry.  
   
Aziraphale took pity on him and in one swift move he was swallowing him whole again and changing the pace. Suddenly, it was rough and it was fast and Crowley was rutting against him like a wild animal, and Aziraphale was not only letting him. No, the angel was actively controlling it, every thrust, every little movement, _he_ was doing that.  
  
Crowley moaned, arching his back impossibly high. "Angel, pleassse, ssstop. I'm ssso clossse." He was pawing at the other's head, desperately, and the angel mused that if he really did want him to stop he was doing an _awful_ job at it. Instead, he sucked just a little bit harder, moved just a little bit faster.  
  
"Pleassse, don't want to hurt you," Crowley tried again, breathless, broken and Aziraphale shook his head just slightly.  
  
He finally dared to look up, his whole body thumping to see the state of the demon that _he_ had put him in, only to meet Crowley's gaze. The demon was staring at him, his eyes more black than yellow, but there was something strange in them. He looked, he looked almost as if he couldn't believe this was all happening. Aziraphale saw it just for a second, before the demon's head was falling back with a groan, but it made something in his heart hurt.  
  
With the loudest and most beautiful hiss, Crowley was coming, his back a tight string. He was still pushing at Aziraphale's head weakly, but the angel was not having it. He wanted to experience everything, the sounds Crowley made, the way he fell apart under his touch, his taste. The angel waited until the other had stopped shaking before letting go and climbing on his feet. Primly, he took a seat at the other end of the couch.  
  
While he waited for the other to say something, anything he took in the sight in front of him. Crowley was sprawled on the couch, half-naked and positively obscene and the most beautiful thing Aziraphale had ever seen. This time, he was wise enough to make an effort to memorise it. Just in case.  
  
"I really hope you don't do that with everyone who helps you," Crowley finally broke the silence with a chuckle. Aziraphale stared at him, scandalized, and was just about to point out that no, in fact he had never touched anyone other than the demon and what exactly did Crowley think he was, when the other waved a hand at him dismissively. "Relax, angel, I'm just teasing."  
  
It bothered Aziraphale a little that the demon had known, without even seeing his face. Crowley turned to look at him, his gaze silent and searching and the intensity of it made the angel look away.  
  
"Was that satisfactory? I do hope you enjoyed that, my dear. It's supposed to be really nice, not that I would have any way of knowing," he said lightly and it sounded fake even to his own ears. He busied himself with the ruffles on his sleeves, afraid of what the other might say. He knew it hadn't been the best. There had been teeth a few time, he had felt it and Charlotte had been _very_ clear about that. And Crowley was a demon, carnal pleasure was one of the aspects of his job. He had probably received countless offers just like the one Aziraphale had made him today, difference was, they probably hadn't come from frumpy bookkeepers who had absolutely no idea what to do.  
  
Crowley, however, was not saying anything and the angel knew that meant he would actually have to look at him. Heart beating just a little bit faster, he met the other's gaze. Crowley was staring at him as if Aziraphale was an infant who had just dribbled something on his shirt, like he usually did, but there was a touch of something akin to affection. The angel counted that as some progress.  
  
"Wait, did you say you don't know how it feels?" Crowley asked suddenly. It was Aziraphale's turn to look at him like he was stupid.  
  
"I don't just go around sleeping with humans, Crowley," he said, voice tight. 'Unlike you,' that part he chose to keep to himself.  
  
"But you just said..." the demon floundered, uncharacteristically flustered. "You mentioned a girl?"  
  
"Yes, she gave me _advice_. I would never..." Aziraphale flushed. "Although, some of the things she said were rather disturbing. For one, she told me it was rather unpleasant on the giver."  
  
Crowley sat just a little bit more upright. There was something rigid in his usually relaxed posture. "You didn't like it?" he asked simply, voice neutral.  
  
The angel ducked his head and shifted slightly. It was enough. There was hunger in Crowley's grin. "I can probably think of a time you saved me to return the favour, if you want?"  
  
"We are still in the Versailles," Aziraphale gasped, as if he had just remembered. Which he actually had.  
  
"Oh, _relax_. Nobody came during your little performance and I wasn't exactly trying to be quiet. No, I reckon the palace would stay empty for a very long time, or at least a couple of hours."  
  
The angel raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on his face. Before he could take Crowley up on his offer, however, the demon was turning fully towards him, looking serious, maybe for the first time in an eternity.  
  
"You know you didn't have to do this, right, angel?"  
  
Aziraphale nodded. "I know." Crowley's hand was resting on the cushion between them and he burnt to hold it. He pressed his palms down. "I wanted to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look me in the eyes and tell you don't think Crowley would buy Aziraphale a bookshop just because he mentioned that one time he wanted one. 
> 
> Also, they are dating. They just don't know it.


	4. England 1889

_England 1862_  
  
Every soul in Hell knew it was impossible to torture a demon. It was completely pointless, nothing could compare to the pain of Falling and even if there was something, in the millennia, demons would have found it. Especially in the beginning, when there had been so very few human souls in Hell and so many bored demons.  
  
Torturing humans on the other hand, that was completely different. Demons were generally thought to have no imagination and that was true, unless the hurting of a soul was involved. Books had been written, the ones with the pictures, as no demon enjoyed reading. New methods were found every day. Still, most of the older demons, as a matter of pride, stuck to the original tortures- beheading, flailing, burning alive. One of the most painful and therefore, popular way to torture a human soul was to show them their loved ones in pain.  
  
This, of course, could not work on demons, as no demon actually loved anything that much. Well, except for one.  
  
Crowley wasn't afraid of Hell, but he _was_ a demon. He knew how they thought and he knew if anyone, ever, found out he was close to Aziraphale, there would be Heaven to pay. For the angel.  
  
The solution was so simple, he didn't even have to think about it. If he was dead then Hell would not care about his friend. Why would they? They would be waging a war on Heaven, for what, the sick pleasure of torturing an angel? No, if Crowley was alive he gave them a _reason_ and he would rather Fall a million times than know Aziraphale was in danger.  
  
Aziraphale, who was currently walking towards him, smiling at him so softly. Crowley turned the other way, fixing his eyes on the lake. The scrap of paper felt heavy in his pocket. Moments later, the angel was sliding next to him.  
  
"I got your letter, dear. Is everything okay?" There was worry in the other's voice and a hand wrapped around Crowley's wrist, just for a second, but enough to make it sting when it was gone.  
  
It would have been different if they were fucking. If someone got suspicious, Crowley could have walked into Hell like the Hellhound that just dragged the soul home and declared to the world he had just tempted an angel. Nobody would have spared him a second glance. They weren't. They met secretly in the park, they went to the opera together. They stood around and talked about nothing, for hours.  
  
Sometimes, in the dead of night they would kiss and Crowley Fell just a little more each time.

It would have been different if the demon didn't love him. Then, perhaps, he wouldn't feel that pang in his heart every time Aziraphale reached for him, his eyes so open and trusting. As if he actually wanted it. As if he could. He knew angels were empathetic creatures, made to love all beings and all that nonsense. Not angels, thought, just _Aziraphale_. He snorted to himself. The poor bastard probably felt him pining from a mile away and because he was so bloody _Good,_ thought it would be best to just give the demon what he wanted.  
  
And Crowley was tempted, he wanted to take everything Aziraphale was so willingly giving him. It wouldn't be the way he wanted it, but he was a demon, he didn't deserve perfect.  Somewhere deep in his mind, something was screaming at him for taking advantage. He quickly remind it that this was his job.  
  
However, first, he needed insurance.  
  
"I need a favour."

* * *

  
  
_England 1889_  
  
Crowley sat up with a gasp, blinking eyes that felt nailed shut. He felt sick and his head was pounding. Every time he swallowed he felt like he was drinking sand. It was the worst hangover he had ever had that it took him quite a while to remember how he had gotten it.  
  
What had happened yesterday? A groan escaped his lips when the fight flickered into existence before him, proceeded by the demon getting so impossibly drunk and then deciding to take a nap.  
  
Crowley supposed he ought to find the angel and fix this mess. Satan knew the more he prolonged it, the harder it would be to get Aziraphale to forgive him. But first, he really needed the lavatory.  
  
_27 years_  
  
When he first saw the date on the newspaper he had borrowed from his neighbour and then promptly threw in the trash, he almost thought it was a joke he wasn't in on. But then he took a look around, really looked, and his first reaction was, "Oh shit, Aziraphale would be pissed."  
  
At least that explained all the dust in his apartment, he had assumed he just _really_ needed to clean.  
  
Crowley tried the bookshop first, but being the middle of the day on a working day, it was, naturally, closed. Most of the angel's favourite places were also gone or empty and the demon was finding it hard navigating the streets.  
  
A lot can change in 30 years, the demon thought bitterly.  
  
Crowley sighed, he really _was_ desperate, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the angel's Grace. They had been friends for so long now, he had grown accustomed to it, could always feel it, at the back of his mind. Not that he particularly minded.  
  
He called it forward now, wincing when it burnt him, eating away at his very soul like acid, the sheer _Goodness_ of the angel. Shaking slightly, he followed it and minutes later he was stumbling inside a cafe. The headache was making his body almost pulse with the pain but it was all worth it for a chance to make sure the angel was safe.  
  
His eyes fell on Aziraphale, looking the same as he had left him, down to that ridiculous fuzzy hat. The angel really had no sense of fashion and the demon had to fend off the sudden and uninvited feeling of fondness melting his body.  
  
Not that he needed to, one look at Aziraphale's surroundings was enough to make his heart grow cold. The angel wasn't alone, there was a young man sitting right next to him.  
  
That, in itself, wasn't unusual, humans had always been drawn to Aziraphale like insects flocking to a slice of cake. Crowley did not like it. He could see how they looked at the angel, how they burned to touch him, like he was a piece of Heaven they wanted all for themselves. It made venom gather in his throat, so thick he could taste it.  
  
Aziraphale, however, never showed any indication he was aware of it nor expressed any particular interest towards anyone. So the demon learnt to drown the desire to rip anyone who dared to even look at his angel, piece by piece. He still made sure the human was aware of it, however, it wouldn't be fair otherwise.  
  
It shouldn't have surprised him, then, how the man looked at Aziraphale like he had personally made the sun rise this morning, the way he hung to every word. The hand the human had on the other's forearm, so casually, while they talked over a table filled with notes, that, Crowley was also willing to ignore. It made something in his heart feel heavy, but he was _fine_.  
  
What made him stop dead in his tracks, and a hiss to escape his lips was the way Aziraphale looked. _He_ was leaning into the human, listening to whatever pointless garbage he had to say, not out of politeness, but because he cared, because he was interested.

Indeed, a lot could change in 30 years.  
  
Crowley saw the way the angel's head shot up, his gaze searching the room, and he wanted to hide. He felt angry and vulnerable and Aziraphale was looking at him, a flurry of emotions flickering across his face, before settling into careful neutrality. The angel turned away, causing the ache in Crowley's heart to grow even stronger, and whispered something to the man.  
  
Now the human was looking at Crowley and with disgust, the demon noted his hand had started rubbing soothing circles on the angel's skin. But Aziraphale moved away, before Crowley had had any chance to march there and make sure no dirty appendage would be touching his angel. Instead, he opted for glaring at the man, channeling his demonic powers into scaring the mortal. The glasses were in the way, but he still knew it was a glare that would made a king abandon his army and run for the hills. It often did.  
  
The human just smirked at him before turning to say something to Aziraphale. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing.  
  
Well, no point in hiding now, Crowley decided, and approached them.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow then, Zira?" the man asked, far too familiarly, the notes pressed tightly to his chest.  
  
"Hmm?" Aziraphale made a sound, distracted. Almost with glee, Crowley watched the smirk dim slightly, when the human realized the other was no longer paying attention to him. The demon made his hips sway just slightly more than usual as he slithered to the table.  
  
"The book reading? One o'clock, at the club?" the human pressed, and damn was he annoying.  
  
It must have worked though, because Aziraphale was shaking his head as if to clear it away, then turning to smile warmly at him.  
  
"Oh, yes, of course, Oscar. I simply cannot wait."  
  
Crowley felt strangely relieved Aziraphale hadn't called him 'dear'. He was sure if his friend had, the demon wouldn't be simply watching _Oscar_ leave. At least not with all of his limbs firmly attached to him.  
  
Crowley slumped in one of the chairs. Aziraphale was staring at him, like he was expecting something from him and Crowley knew exactly what.  
  
"I thought you didn't go around _fraternizing_ with humans," instead, he growled. There was nothing teasing in his voice, even though he had planned for it to be. Then again, he hadn't really planned to find the angel enjoying someone else's company, either.  
  
Something cold and ancient hardened in Aziraphale's eyes. Something that reminded Crowley, this was not the soft, beaming angel he had grown so used to protecting. This was a soldier of the Lord, a creature shaped from supernovas, that still remembered being one.  
  
He wondered idly if Aziraphale might smite him. Instead, the angel made to get up and somehow that felt worse.  
  
Crowley pressed his hand on top of his. Aziraphale's whole body stiffened but he didn't try to leave or move his hand away and it was enough of a miracle for the demon.  
  
"I'm still not helping you," the angel finally whispered and there was something in his eyes, something broken but defiant.  
  
Crowley reeled back. Was that what the angel thought he was here for? Because he needed something? He knew he was a demon but even he could not be this cruel.  
  
He squeezed Aziraphale's hand.  
  
"I know and I shouldn't have asked that of you." He took a breath and removed his glasses, not caring who saw him. Looking at the angel, he tried to pour everything he felt into his stare. Then he did something no demon had ever done. He apologised. "I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to make you do something so dangerous, something you clearly weren't comfortable with. And I'm sorry for disappearing for so long and taking so long to apologise."  
  
Aziraphale snatched his hand back, making Crowley wince. He had said something wrong and the realization should not be making his heart feel like it was crumbling. He was a demon, he should have learnt by now he would never get this right. Even if the angel found it in himself to return Crowley's feelings, he would need exactly five seconds to see what a hot mess the other was.  
  
"Is this why you think I refused to help you? Because it's dangerous? Because I'm afraid for _myself_?" Aziraphale's voice was high, not exactly yelling, but given his natural aversion to causing a scene, it made Crowley grimace.  
  
The demon shrugged slightly. He had just taken a 30 year long nap after their argument, he couldn't really judge anyone for being a bit selfish.  
  
"You... you, _idiot_." This was also the closest Aziraphale had gotten to swearing and the other stared. "Do you know what Heaven would do if they found out we were friends? If I'm lucky, they will drag me back Up and put me on desk duty and I would never see you again. If I'm not...," Aziraphale's voice wavered slightly, "If they knew, they would kill you."  
  
Aziraphale took in a shaky breath, his hands fidgeting in his lap and Crowley wanted to cover them with his own.  
  
"I'm sorry," the demon said, and was proud when his own voice didn't show the cracks he felt were appearing all over his soul.  
  
Aziraphale shook his head and looked away. He looked like he wanted to say something more, his mouth opened, he drew in a deep breath, and then his shoulders slumped down.  
  
"Your hair has grown," the angel said instead, a few minutes of awkward silence later.

* * *

  
Aziraphale was being strangely affectionate. He usually was, especially when he had a few bottles of wine worth inside his body, but never like that. Never so _clingy_.  
  
Crowley couldn't say he hated it.  
  
They were in the bookshop's backroom, Crowley sitting on the couch and the angel sprawled on it, head in the other's lap. He was currently going on and on about this gentleman's club he had joined and how much fun it was, while the demon was playing with his hair. If forced, Crowley would have to say the other had actually put his hand there. This, surprisingly, was not a lie.  
  
When the angel started talking about all the friends he had made in this club, particularly the young man in the cafe, Crowley decided to listen.  
  
The demon had to suffer through an endless monologue of how intelligent the human was, what a great author he was, how actually he was publishing a novel soon and he had asked Aziraphale to help him with ideas, how very kind of him. Crowley, midway thought the speech, had decided to start massaging the angel's neck and was far more interested in the way Aziraphale pressed back into his touch, the occasional sigh that would slip his lips.  
  
Then the angel gushed how nice it would be for Crowley to meet him and how certain he was they would all be best friends.  
  
"...and he knows 'bout it." Aziraphale turned wide eyes towards him and whispered, conspiratorially, "The Agreement."  
  
Crowley's fingers froze. "You told him you were an angel?"  
  
"Nooo. The 'ther one," the angel giggled. "Part two."  
  
Somehow that was even worse.  
  
Aziraphale had, however, moved from their conversation, now playing with Crowley's hair, twisting the copper strands around his fingers. The demon had to suppress a shiver when he saw how good it looked against the angel's white skin, how much it made him want more.  
  
"I really like your hair," Aziraphale said dreamily. Crowley stared at him. "'ts like in the Garden."  
  
Something seemed to occur to the other and he fell quiet.  
  
"Angel?" Crowley tried softly.  
  
"I thought I'd never see you again," Aziraphale finally whispered, his eyes suddenly clouded. "You came to me for holy water and then you disappeared and at first I thought you were mad at me. Couldn't blame you. Even when I couldn't feel you I thought maybe you just went to Hell for a while. But then you never came back and I thought maybe you tried to take it yourself and something went wrong and now you were a puddle in some church and it was all my fault."  
  
Tears were running down Aziraphale's face and the demon brushed them away with gentleness he would never confess to. He couldn't imagine how the angel had felt, didn't really want to and he just needed to make it all better. However, there was nothing he could do now and that knowledge made the invisible grip on his throat tighten even more.  
  
The angel was crying and the most Crowley could do was run his fingers through his hair and gently shush him. He was pathetic. He was _unworthy_.  
  
At some point Aziraphale fell asleep, face pressed against the demon's stomach. And if Crowley didn't stop playing with his hair even after he realized, well, there was no one there to see him.  
  
It occurred to him, somehow, this felt more intimate than anything else they had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I switched around Crowley's nap and made it after their fight because I can and because people need to respect the Angst. 
> 
> Also, guys, they are really stupid so they would be pining for a while, don't worry.


	5. Germany 1914

_Germany 1914_

Aziraphale knew Crowley hated wars. The demon never outright confessed to it, probably seeing it as too "undemonic" of a thought. Instead, he claimed he found it boring, pointing out he had been in actual Hell and everything. Aziraphale, who had known him for six millennia, chose not to comment.  
  
The truth was, Crowley liked his job, he really rather enjoyed making people miserable. It would have caused Aziraphale any concern, had he not known the type of people the demon preferred torturing. Not that his friend ever boasted about his preferences, either, but again- six thousand years left little to the imagination. The only thing Crowley would willingly admit to was the fact he would never touch children and the terrible things that would happen to those who did.  
  
War was different, however. War didn't discriminate. Aziraphale, better than most, knew this as he wandered the demolished battlefield. There was a momentary ceasefire, as both sides recouped their losses and devised new plans and the angel used that time to walk around, unseen, and talk to the fallen. He couldn't do much, he was aware of it, but he would listen to them, calm them down, sometimes hold their hand. The boys didn't die alone and afraid and Aziraphale could pretend it was enough.  
  
In those moments the angel understood why Crowley hated wars. The demon was probably holed in his apartment, sleeping it away and the angel's heart yearned strangely for something. Which is why, when Aziraphale thought he heard his friend's voice, calling him, he chalked it down to his imagination. There was a tiredness in him, seeping into his very bones, it was normal his brain was trying to give him some comfort.  
  
Then two strong, decidedly not-imaginary, hands were pushing him down, just as a round of bullets exploded above them.  
  
"What the _fuck_ do you think you are doing, angel?" Crowley yelled into his ear. When he got nothing, but a stunned silence, he hissed, "For Heaven'sss sssake, just give me your damn hand."  
  
This helped Aziraphale out of his stupor, and he glanced at the man lying just a few feet from them. "I would need just a second, dear."  
  
Despite the havoc drowning his voice, Crowley must have heard him as he rolled away from the angel with an exasperated sigh.  
  
"One second," the demon growled, "and then I'm leaving without you."  
  
He really wasn't and Aziraphale's smile said as much. Crowley just rolled his eyes.  
  
The man, a boy no older than 19, made a gurgling sound when the angel approached him. He had a girl back home, she was the most beautiful thing and she loved him dearly. He had wanted to be a poet and Aziraphale gladly let him recite some of his favourite ones in his mind, praising him for how beautiful they sounded.  
  
He was a talented young man and he was bleeding to death in the snow, while the angel stroked his hair and listened to him. At some point, Aziraphale had lifted himself just slightly, but enough for the bullets to become more than a noisy distraction. Miraculously, even then, nothing managed to hit him.  
  
"Can we go now?" the demon said from besides him, the moment the young man drew his last breath.  
  
"Just a moment, Crowley."  
  
The bullets had stopped now and Aziraphale listened while he tried to dodge the demon's hand.  
  
"Something is happening," he whispered, craning his neck. "I think they are... _singing_?"  
  
"I don't care if they are dancing the fucking gavotte. Your hand, Aziraphale. Now."  
  
With a sigh, the angel grabbed Crowley's outstretched hand. They were gone in a second, leaving behind just the faintest smell of sulfur.

* * *

  
  
The moment they were safe, Crowley had the angel by the lapels and against the wall.  
  
"What the blessed Heaven is wrong with you?" the demon growled, his fangs flashing. "You would have been discorporated if I hadn't been there."  
  
Crowley was so close, the angel could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his hot breath on his cheek. He should have been scared, could remember clearly when he still had been. But now, the proximity of their bodies made the angel think of midnight kisses and wandering hands. Of the way Crowley would moan into his mouth, would hiss when he was aroused. Aziraphale kissed him. He wrapped his hands around the other's neck and dragged him close, connecting their lips eagerly. It took only a moment, but the demon was letting go of his jacket and grasping his waist, pushing him back.  
  
Bodies pressed so impossibly close, Aziraphale tried to gulp down the moan threatening to spill from his lips when he felt the other's sharp hipbones pining him to the wall. Judging from the way the demon groaned in their kiss, he must not have been very successful. Desperate to hear that groan again, Aziraphale rolled his hips, his whole body thumping once he did. Greedily, he wanted to do it a million times over, but the other's hands were holding him now, so tight he couldn't move and it really wasn't fair. The angel was just about to say as much but Crowley was letting him go and moving back.  
  
"Do not think kissing me would stop me from being pissed at you." There was no real heat behind the demon's words anymore. Certainly not one from Crowley being mad at him, at any point.  
  
"Perhaps you should stop pining me to the wall every time you are angry, my dear. It does give the wrong impression," the angel teased with a smile, which grew even more when the other rolled his eyes at him.  
  
"Where are we?" Aziraphale asked when he remembered to look around. His lips were tingling and he licked them, chasing that last taste.  
  
The demon shrugged. "I don't really go around making reservations, angel. It's an empty hotel room and we won't be bothered. It's enough."  
  
The angel took a seat on the bed, graciously accepting the steaming cup Crowley pressed into his hands. He wanted to ask for something a bit stronger but one look at the glaring yellow eyes and he decided it was better not to push it. One sip of the hot cocoa and he realized this was exactly what he had needed, anyway.  
  
"So which brain-dead Archangel ordered you to risk your brilliant arse talking soldiers to death? I might go pay them a visit." Slowly, as if giving him time to escape, Crowley slid down next to the angel, so close their thighs were touching.  
  
Aziraphale could feel a blush spreading on his cheeks and he ducked his head. His friend might actually kill him for this. He quickly mumbled in his neck, hoping against hope he wouldn't have to repeat that.  
  
"I'm sorry, what was that?" Crowley didn't sound like someone who hadn't heard him, he sounded like he _had_ , and he couldn't quite believe his ears.  
  
The angel raised his head.  
  
"I said, it wasn't exactly an order from Upstairs," he said slightly louder, miserably.  
  
Oh, Crowley looked like he would strangle him. He was opening his mouth, probably to berate him on how incredibly moronic he was and the angel hurried to change the subject.  
  
"That was nice, though, wasn't it? Both sides casting aside their weapons in a Christmas carol." He sat up a little bit straighter. "What a nice miracle from Upstairs."  
  
Crowley snorted. "Oh, angel." He sounded slightly mocking. "That was not Heaven's job."  
  
"What do you mean it wasn't? They stopped killing each other to celebrate Jesus Christ's birth. What is holier than that?"  
  
"And tomorrow they will be shooting at the people they were celebrating with. What is more devious than that?"  
  
Aziraphale's shoulders slumping a bit. Still, he pressed on. "They might not. They have free will."  
  
Crowley shrugged and they were so close the angel could feel it, against him. It made something in him burn.  
  
"What were _you_ doing in there?" Aziraphale's brows narrowed in suspicion.  
  
He half-expected the other to wave him off. Secretly, in the part of his heart he had quarantined eternities ago, he hoped maybe the demon would say he was there for him. Crowley looking away, unusually flustered, however, would not have occurred to him even in his wildest dreams.  
  
"Crowley?" he pressed, it must have been quite evil if his friend had reacted this way. And there wasn't a lot you could do during a war.  
  
"I told you, it wasn't really a _heavenly_ intervention," Crowley finally relented, still not meeting his gaze.  
  
Aziraphale bit his lip. Well, it would not be the worst thing the demon had done and it had stopped the killing for one night. The angel dared not ask himself why, nonetheless, he felt this arching emptiness inside his soul.  
  
The silence was heavy and Aziraphale felt he had done something to cause it. He finished his drink in one gulp, mostly for the excuse to get up and put the mug back on the table. It occurred to him that he probably needed to go, Crowley probably had other, better, things to do than sit around, moping with him.  
  
He turned around to say as much and suddenly, Crowley was next to him, an unreadable look on his face. It made Aziraphale feel like a school boy about to be told off by a teacher, if that teacher also wanted to devour him whole.  
  
He wasn't far off.  
  
Before he could even yelp, Crowley was lifting him on the table and settling between his legs, causing a shiver to wreck his body.  
  
Aziraphale could do nothing but revel in it, pinned to the table, as the demon was kissing his neck, alternating between sucking on his flesh and dragging his teeth over it. He was also talking, which the angel felt took a considerable amount of time away from the kissing, and he wanted him to focus, _please_.  
  
Unwilling, but feeling he had no real choice, he decided to pay attention.  
  
"... such an idiot. Doesn't even care. Could have been blown to pieces. But no, let's hold that guy's _hand_ , instead. Stupid. Moron."  
  
Every sentence was punctuated with a kiss and Aziraphale couldn't help it, he giggled. He knew he wasn't supposed to but the other looked so cute, angrily fussing over him.  
  
Crowley must have read his thoughts because the glare he gave him was scathing. Or it would have been if not for the fact his hair was mussed and his lips were bright red. Aziraphale had to try very hard to stop another giggle.  
  
"Are insults your new way of getting me in the mood, dear?" instead, he asked playfully.  
  
Crowley's brows narrowed as he meaningfully thrust forward, meeting the sole proof the angel was very much 'in the mood'. With a gasp, Aziraphale's head lolled back and the demon used the moment to attack him again. It was torture, the way the demon electrified him with his touch, how he made him feel like his skin could no longer contain him. The angel wanted more, wrapping his legs around the other's waist and bringing him close, holding him closer. The languid way Crowley was rolling his hips all but came to a stop and Aziraphale groaned, frustrated. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought the demon was punishing him.  
  
When his hands were pinned behind his back after, very innocently, attempting to undo some buttons, his suspicion grew.  
  
"No," the demon growled at him and Aziraphale probably lacked crucial self-preservation skills as it just made him burn for _more_. "You will sit here and think about what you have done."  
  
It was very hard to think, especially when Crowley was nibbling at his shoulder, one hand working on the buttons of Aziraphale's shirt, the other holding his arms and pressing him close, flush against the other's body. But he was an angel of principles, he would not be apologising for doing his job. No, not even when Crowley did something particularly sinful with his hips.  
  
"I have done nothing wrong," he stated flatly, or tried to. In truth, it came out in a whimper.  
  
"Come on, angel," the demon purred in his ear and then bit it lightly. "Do you want to argue about ethics or do you want me to sssuck you." Crowley's forked tongue flicked out, tasting the sweat on the other's neck.  
  
Aziraphale thought he might choke on air. Finally, he relented, slightly desperate. "Fine, yes, I apologise."  
  
Crowley still wasn't impressed. " _And_ you will be more careful next time?"  
  
Aziraphale glared at him thought heavy-lidded eyes and the demon did the thing again, as if he slid his whole body against the angel's.  
  
"Yes, yes, I will be careful. Please," he almost sobbed, his body feeling like it was slowly being roasted in the most delicious of Hellfires. It could have been worse. The demon could have asked him to promise to never do it again and Aziraphale wasn't entirely convinced he would have resisted.  
  
Crowley just smirked and dipped down to gently kiss his cheek. That... that _bastard_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was time for a happy chapter. Only 5% angst!


	6. England 1941

_England 1941_

"I love you."

Crowley almost crashed the car. He would have, but his Bentley knew better than to slam into the lamppost suddenly in its way.

Head whipping around so quickly he probably broke something, he stared at the angel. Aziraphale was beaming at him, a bright moon in the dark forest that was the demon's life, and he looked so open, so beautiful and for one tiny second Crowley let himself believe. Something swelled inside him, a warmth he hadn't felt for millennia, ever since he had Fallen. His tie felt too tight around his neck and he wondered idly if he might choke to death. Then again, he probably had died already and somehow ended up in Heaven. If his body didn't know any better, there might have even been tears in his eyes.

Then his gaze lowered, towards the books he had saved, which Aziraphale was still reverently pressing against his chest. Another image flickered in his mind, of the angel, on his knees before him just because Crowley had saved him from some _paperwork_. Giving the demon exactly what he wanted as a way of thank you.

Something dark and ugly settled inside his skin and for a moment he was angry. Surely, Aziraphale would not be this cruel. He was an angel, he knew exactly how Crowley felt, he would never torture him like that. He would never dangle his love before him just so he could tear it away. A second look at the angel, and his smile was dimming now, just slightly, but still the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen, and the demon felt his anger dissipate.

Aziraphale was giving him exactly what he wanted. Like he always had. It wasn't his fault Crowley was a greedy bastard.

"So this is how we are saying thank you now?" he managed to tease, his voice slightly rough but otherwise perfectly normal. Crowley felt proud of himself. He had had centuries to practice.

"Of course not!" If the demon looked at him, he was sure he would see Aziraphale pouting. He didn't. He was afraid of what he might do if he turned towards the angel.

Crowley had been hopeful, long ago. He had often dreamed of his friend telling him he could probably give him a chance, could try to love him. It was stupid, even in his own fantasies, Aziraphale would look at him with uncertain eyes, would be reluctant in accepting Crowley's feelings.

Demons didn't really dream, but then again, neither did they love and it always felt like just another way for Hell to torture him.

He felt his eyes sting behind his glasses.

"I do prefer the other ways you could thank me," he finally said, throwing Aziraphale what he hoped was a leering smirk, but one that had too many teeth in it. The angel didn't notice either way, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. A few seconds later and Crowley heard the sound of the books hitting the floor of his car and somehow felt they had taken his stomach with them.

Crowley wasn't _stupid_ , he knew the angel enjoyed his company, even sought it out himself. They were friends and to the demon's utter shock, Aziraphale had stopped denying that fact decades ago. The angel would beam at him sometimes, his white locks a halo around his beautiful smile, and Crowley remembered all the times it had happened. He had a list, stored in the deepest, darkest rooms of his consciousness, to be accessed only when the demon needed to be reminded he had absolutely no chance to make this ethereal creature love him.

Because Aziraphale was perfect. Angels loved everything, the same way a human would enjoy a summer day. It was impersonal and cold and yet Crowley knew he would have been lucky to receive even that. Demons weren't exactly known for their lovable qualities. But then Aziraphale had been different, he hadn't smitten him when Crowley had approached him that first time, hadn't recoiled with disgust. The angel had allowed him friendship and companionship and Crowley's selfishness had managed to poison it. He had continued asking for more and more and Aziraphale, divine, perfect, Aziraphale had given it to him.

But even the angel had his limits. Even he wouldn't give him _this_.

"I have, _personally_ , heard you say those words to a slug, angel." He let his voice drip with the disdain he was feeling towards himself.

"Oh, but he was such a dear," Aziraphale murmured gently, his voice slightly muted, "trying to cross the road, all by himself."

Crowley's head fell back with a groan.

" _Please,_ don't start getting attached to every creature you see," he pleaded even though it was futile. He could remember the way Aziraphale had looked, cooing over the mollusc, his eyes bright, and he knew that if he could, Crowley would have fallen just a little bit more.

The angel just hummed in response. In fact, he stayed silent the whole ride, not a squeak, not even when Crowley almost, certainly not to get a rise out of him, ran over that older gentleman.

Finally, they were in front of the bookshop and the angel was leaving, having still not spared him a second glance. It must have been traumatic, Crowley reasoned, almost dying and then almost _losing his books_ but that didn't stop the tiny ache in his heart that would not go away until he made it all better.

"And stop playing hero, okay?" the demon growled, eyes flashing behind his sunglasses.

Hip against the car, Crowley tried desperately to give out an air of nonchalance. In truth, he felt like a predator, stalking his prey, waiting for the perfect moment. Soon. Aziraphale opened the door, his slightly hunched silhouette illuminated in the door for just a moment as he hesitated. The angel was going to do it, he was too polite not to. Crowley said nothing, didn't dare move an inch, too afraid he might scare him away.

"Would you like to come in?"

Aziraphale was not British, but he had spent enough time there to pick up that annoying habit of asking a question just because he felt he was supposed to. Under normal circumstances, Crowley would have taken the hint and bid him goodnight. Now, he just grinned, strolling inside, followed by a slightly flustered Aziraphale.

Once inside, he leaned against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, while he watched the angel fuss. He was quite good at that, leaning. He thought it gave him an air of refined menace. And there was a lot of menace in him now, as his eyes followed Aziraphale shuffling around, as if lost in his own bookstore.

It must have been even worse for the angel than he had thought. No wonder he had... Crowley could feel rage coil inside him, white and burning. Well, he could always visit those three in Hell, show them what real _pain_ was.

Aziraphale was moving to the backroom now, having put the books back to the shelves, in the entirely wrong order. If Crowley hadn't known before, he would have been sure now. Something was terribly wrong. Not trusting the angel to be on his own one bit, Crowley followed him, a discrete wave of his hand making the books go to their proper places behind his retreating form.

"Would you like some tea, my dear?"

Aziraphale's voice was slightly dull as it carried through the bookshop and the demon let his nerves bleed into his haste. In a second, he was in the small kitchen, watching as his friend prepared the tea. He would have stopped him, but he supposed the angel needed it, needed to follow a certain routine. It always managed to calm him down.

So, Crowley limited his worry to performing a minor miracle or two. The teapot where the angel's finger grazed it was suddenly not scalding hot, the hob turned itself off, a teacup straightened itself after dangerously rattling on its plate.

"Angel?" Crowley asked softly when he couldn't stand it anymore.

It was the wrong thing to do, startling Aziraphale and making him turn around so quickly, his elbow swiping one of the teacups off the table. Under Crowley's glare, the cup blinked out of existence mid-fall and returned to its place, not a drop of liquid wasted. It didn't stop Aziraphale fretting and in a few long strides, the demon was in front of him, grasping the hands fidgeting with his waistcoat's buttons to stop them. Certainly not to check them for any injuries, in any case.

"Is everything okay, Aziraphale?" he asked, carefully guarding the softness from his voice.

The angel looked at him, eyes wide and hazy. Like a fog the demon could lose himself into, but Crowley had spent too many centuries staring into them to be stopped now. There was hurt there. His hands tightened around Aziraphale's and he was so glad he still hadn't taken off his glasses. One look and his friend would know this went beyond simple worry and went dangerously into "I will hurt anyone who even looks at you the wrong way" territory.

The angel averted his gaze, his bottom lip shaking slightly, stopped only by sharp teeth digging into it. Aziraphale was vulnerable, he was hurting and Crowley didn't know what to do. He never did, did he?

"I think I should probably go," he said finally, cowardly. It was for the best, surely Aziraphale wanted to relax on his own, without a demon looming over him.

The angel's hands turned inside his grasp, lacing their fingers together, giving him a little squeeze. He could take the easy path and read it as a goodbye. He could give Aziraphale a smirk, could leave and when he was back his friend would be feeling better and they would pretend nothing had happened. He didn't _need_ to be here for the fallout, he was not _expected_ to help Aziraphale.

Crowley gave him a squeeze back. His one said, 'Of course I'll stay'.

Aziraphale didn't let go of him, his hold, a warm and constant presence as the night progressed. They didn't talk much but they drank. For once, the angel didn't scold him when he miracled bottle after bottle of expensive wine, away from the dusty cellar of some rich snob. No, Aziraphale just took them wordlessly, a little squeeze if they were a particular favourite of his, and downed them in one gulp.

Crowley wanted to tell the angel he didn't need to worry. He would save him, would always be there for him and, in fact, had been, following him in the dark for decades now. Keeping him out of trouble. The demon would do anything for him.

But he couldn't really say that, could he? Instead, he miracled the wine and watched as the creases on the other's forehead smoothed out and his eyes became too glazed for the demon to see the pain in them.

Aziraphale was a rambling drunk and Crowley loved it, loved everything about him, really. The demon hoped maybe if he got him drunk enough he would tell him what was wrong and then maybe he would be able to fix it. But Aziraphale was mute, not sparing him even a glance.

Too many bottles later and the angel was wobbling on his feet, tugging on Crowley's hand to follow him. They made their way upstairs, Aziraphale leaning on him and in any other case the demon would have been ecstatic. That warm weight, that open trust, just for him. But Aziraphale felt vulnerable, he felt _broken_ in his arms and it made something in Crowley feel like it would shatter too.

Once in front of his bed, Aziraphale finally let go of him and the demon had to fight a shudder when cold air hit him where the angel's warm palm had been. He watched as his friend climbed into bed, clothes and shoes and all, and snapped his fingers to remove them. He knew it was what Aziraphale would have done if he wasn't black-out drunk but it still felt wrong. As if he was taking advantage.

He turned to leave, suddenly feeling like he was bearing witness to something sacred. A whimper stopped him and then something that sounded suspiciously like a plea, if it had taken a tumble in a barrel of wine.

For all they had done, they had never shared a bed and Crowley hesitated. Was it Aziraphale that was asking him to stay or his fear? The whimper came again, a bit louder, and he realized he didn't care. Toeing off his shoes, he approached the other side, in a haste now, before his friend had changed his mind. The demon laid down on his back, unsure what to do, afraid to even move. The bed was small, certainly smaller than Crowley's own, but wide enough for both of them to be on it comfortably without touching.

He was just in the process of wondering how exactly he could miracle a few inches off the bed without being completely obvious, when Aziraphale stirred next to him. Before he knew it, the angel was curling around him, head falling in the nook of his chest, a warm hand- a welcomed weight around his stomach. He was shaking, just slightly, and instinctively Crowley wrapped a hand around his shoulder, rubbing it gently, drawing him closer.

_"I love you,"_ the words echoed in his mind, clear and agonizing.

Satan, how he _longed_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley: I'm not stupid  
> Everyone else: Not so sure about that, champ


	7. England 1942

_England 1942_

Aziraphale slept.

In his dream, he felt feathery touches, brushing the hair from his forehead, caressing his neck. He dreamt of strong arms enveloping him, drawing him close. Sometimes, he would hear light footsteps, rarely- whispers. He could never make out the words, but they made him feel safe and loved and treasured.

Angels didn't dream but, then again, it couldn't be real, could it?

So Aziraphale slept.

When he finally woke up he wished he hadn't. He could feel his heart contract in his chest just as his eyes did, at the sudden assault of sunlight.

_I love you_

Maybe Crowley was right, maybe he really was an _idiot_. But he had been so happy, the books' weight against him, a constant reminder that the demon cared for him. Not only for him, he cared enough to save something close to Aziraphale when the angel's only concern had been to keep him safe.

He should have known. If Crowley loved him the angel would have been able to sense it, would have noticed over the years. He was checking every so often now, desperate, his Grace prodding slightly and his heart shattering just a tiny bit more when nothing was different.

And now it was over, now the demon knew and he had rejected him. Aziraphale wished he had never said anything. The despair drowning him every time he wondered if Crowley would ever return his feelings felt better. At least it was familiar.

He trudged down the stairs on legs that felt like two wooden stumps. There was a bag on the kitchen table, a simple brown thing with the name of that French bakery he adored so much printed on it, and Aziraphale shot it a cursory glance. He was sure that hadn't been there before, but then again, yesterday was all but a hazy memory to him.

The angel remembered sitting on the couch, wine after wine replacing the blood in his system. Crowley had been there. They had held hands. He groaned, almost dropping the teapot.

What sort of angel was he? Professing his love and then making the person who rejected him nurse him through his grief. Had he no shame? No wonder Crowley had left, he probably could not bear be in the same town as him.

Just as the thought made his heart stop, he was proven wrong by a gentle cough.

"I see you are finally up."

Crowley was angry at him. The demon was leaning against the door, an identical brown bag hanging limply from his hands, face carefully blank. For anyone else, he would have looked apathetic, perhaps the slight shock etched into his face would have been discernible. However, Aziraphale could feel his eyes burn even behind the sunglasses, had seen the slight clench of his fingers.

The angel had told him he loved him and now Crowley was angry at him.

He scolded himself, why was he even surprised. The demon had given him almost everything he had wanted, had cared for him, had saved him numerous times. Then Aziraphale had ruined it by asking for the only thing the other simply _could not_ give him.

"Let's go get you something to eat."

The demon must have felt the tension seeping out of Aziraphale's form and his posture relaxed, just slightly. He still didn't make a move to approach him and it made something in the angel feel very cold.

Aziraphale shot a pleading look at the brown bag on the table. The thought of staying here, in his small, empty kitchen alone with Crowley terrified him. But it was better than the idea of them outside, Aziraphale forcing food that felt like rocks past his lips while Crowley looked at him with pity. While he told him that what the angel wanted was impossible.

Oh, he might cry. He really didn't want to cry in public.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, his features, which the angel had always regarded as rather soft, turned into marble.

"That's been here for a few days. You'd better throw it away." There was something sharp in his voice, sharp and cutting, slicing through Aziraphale's heart. He didn't want it to be like that between them.

God, he just wanted... He just wanted his _friend_ back.

What Crowley said finally connected with the small, functioning part of his brain and he stared.

"What do you mean, a few days? I was asleep no more than a couple of hours," he croaked, his voice raspy and painful. As if he hadn't used it in a while. But that couldn't possibly be true. Surely, there would be some signs if he had slept for longer.

He looked around, his kitchen was exactly the same as he had left it.

"Try 4 monthsss." Crowley's carefully constructed mask finally cracked, a hiss escaping his lips as his face contorted with something akin to despair.

Aziraphale's eyes widened and he opened his mouth, ready to argue about the impossibility of the situation but the demon was already leaving. He looked exhausted, his sinful swagger all but gone, the sway of his hips- a quiet afterthought. The angel wondered if perhaps he would start crying right now.

He didn't. Not when Crowley opened the door of the Bentley for him, like he had done so many times, but now felt like a death sentence. Not even when the hand on the small of his back, guiding him to a little bakery, burnt like Hellfire.

Aziraphale ordered tea, Crowley stared at him. It occurred to the angel, he could take it all back, could apologise and promise he would never voice his love again. He had never been a coward, but this went beyond that, beyond pride, beyond protecting his own feelings. It was a matter of keeping Crowley by his side. And not unlike a poor orphan child, he wasn't above settling for the scraps of the demon's affection. In fact, he would rejoice in them, would make them a feast.

"Crowley," he started, voice weak, but he could always blame that on its disuse.

His friend knew better, of course he did, and the demon flinched back, away from Aziraphale's outstretched hand.

"I care for you," Crowley said as if forcing the words through a suddenly too-tight throat. He most probably was.

Any other day, these words would have made Aziraphale's heart stop. It was everything he had ever dreamed of, in those dark nights when the alcohol managed to convince him he had a chance.

His heart still stuttered, but for an entirely different reason. Crowley caring for him meant languid kisses, lazy afternoons spent on the sofa, curled together, touches that didn't feel stolen. It meant Aziraphale finally feeling like half of his soul was not missing. Crowley caring for him, as a response to the angel telling him he loved him, that, _that_ just burnt like rejection.

The angel's insides felt heavy.

"I know that, dear boy," he said gently, letting his face melt into a genuine smile.

He did. Crowley had been his closest and dearest friend for millennia now. The demon had always been there for him, helping him, listening to him, _caring_ for him. It was more than Aziraphale could have even hoped for, surely more than one could expect from a demon, even one as bad at being a demon as Crowley.

His friend loved him, Aziraphale suddenly realized. Not how the angel yearned to be loved, but far more than he deserved.

Hope filled him, warm and surprising. This would be okay, he assured himself, they would always be friends. Crowley would forgive him, as he always did, and they will pretend it never happened. Hope, that died as quickly as it had arisen, once he met the other's gaze.

Somewhere along the way, Crowley had taken off his glasses and the angel found he could not stand to look at him. There was pain in his eyes, but what gave him pause was the shame. Aziraphale had never seen anything like that in them. Crowley had been flustered, yes, once or twice when caught performing a Good act. But he had never looked like he had personally ruined everything between them.

If someone had done that, it would be Aziraphale. The angel could feel something tearing inside his body, something so fragile, and his eyes burnt from the pain.

"Please," he begged, desperate. He didn't know what for but Crowley would, he always did. His friend would make it better.

It was despicable, relying on him, again, after everything that had happened. _Aziraphale_ was despicable and, suddenly, it was too much. He couldn't stop it, his shoulders slumped down, head falling between them as he collapsed in on himself, body shaking mutely.

Crowley's hand was on his, instantly, squeezing it, as the demon shushed him. It only managed to make Aziraphale feel worse.

The angel had ended their friendship, ruined everything and here Crowley was, comforting him. Loving him more than he deserved. How _dare_ Aziraphale ask for more than this?

"It's not your fault," he managed through trembling lips. His eyes were pleading and just a little bit wild when he turned them towards Crowley. The angel didn't think the other was responsible for the way Aziraphale felt, never would. The demon _needed_ to know this. "I don't blame you."

The glasses were back on and for once, not even the angel could read Crowley's expression. Then, a thin smile stretched even thinner lips and the other was moving away, getting up and the angel suddenly felt empty.

"Of course you don't, Aziraphale."

His name, where once an endearment had stood, hung in the air even after Crowley was long gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear it's gonna get better!! But, you know, Angst!


	8. England 1948

_England 1942_

Friends. They could be friends.

Friends that still went to restaurants together, fed ducks at the park, got drunk and talked about nothing and everything.

Friends that didn't hold hands, didn't lean on one another when they were too drunk. Didn't remember how the other looked when he was falling apart. Didn't dream of scooping him close and shielding him in his wings until all of existence died.

But Crowley would do his best to be the friend Aziraphale deserved. The angel had given him everything he had wanted, and yet he had asked for more, always hungry for the next touch, the next smile. Desperate for it to be real.

And now he had nothing.

He could only hope Aziraphale still wanted to be his friend. That's what he told himself, at least. The truth was, the angel was just too Good to push him away and, damn him, Crowley would be ecstatic with just seeing him, knowing that he was okay. The shared laughs, the way Aziraphale trembled under his touch, how the angel looked at him sometimes, almost as if, but of course not, like he had forgotten there was a world outside their embrace. That would have to go, locked away with everything else the demon did not let himself feel.

Crowley would be okay. He had spent millennia teasing the angel with his words and not his body. Being his friend was all he needed. The memory of Aziraphale, lips kissed red and eyes half-lidded, looking sinful yet so utterly angelic made pain throb in his veins but he ignored it. Who better to endure infernal punishment, to deserve it, than a demon.

He had had a lot of time to think, while Aziraphale had been dead to the world. Most of it, not that he would ever admit that to anyone, had been spent agonizing over the well-being of the angel, running trembling hands over the faint beat of a heart the other didn't technically need, over his skin, seeking warmth that was no longer there.

Aziraphale was pale, always _so pale_ and the sight of him, sprawled under the covers, frozen and not breathing had made panic seize the demon's body almost daily. So he had focused on keeping the house clean and the customers away. There had always been food, ready to be devoured by a recently awoken angel. Because he would awake, of course he would, otherwise Crowley would not be wasting his time rambling around his stupid bookshop.

Four months. What would be the time between two breaths for a being that had seen the stars being created, had weighted like an eternity. Crowley could not imagine how the angel had felt, years ago, when the roles had been reversed. They hadn't been, though, not really. Crowley had seen his friend fall asleep, knew where he was at all times, could visit and make sure he was still alive. Aziraphale had thought he was dead. For 27 years. A right bastard he had been, putting the angel through all of this.

No wonder Aziraphale hated him. Or would hate him, if he wasn't a creature of pure and ethereal love, as well as an angel. No, his friend had broken down crying, had assured Crowley it wasn't his fault. The idiot hadn't even rejected him properly. Crowley had expected disgust and rage and accusations that their friendship had never been real. Something that will cut through the demon's heart and make it easier for him to... _stop_ loving Aziraphale.

Crowley snorted. As if there was anything capable of such a feat.

* * *

 

_England 1948_

Crowley had meant to visit the bookshop earlier. Days had turned into months, then into years. It wasn't that he was avoiding the angel, per se. He was a demon, the original tempter, the great Snake of Eden. There was nothing that could scare him.

It just happened that he had this important trip to America, which, _of course,_ he could not delay so he had to leave. Crowley still wrote a letter and mailed it to Aziraphale, explaining everything, because he was not a complete asshole and he really did not want to push his luck with the angel's forgiveness.

Then, once he came back, the war had ended, which brought a whole new set of problems. Honestly, if he had known Hitler's suicide would have costed him so many hours of paperwork, he would have gone and killed the man by himself. Which, coincidentally, is what he claimed he had done in his reports.

Not that Crowley had even met him, too busy drowning his brain cells in a small tavern in France.

But he could no longer postpone it, he had ran out of excuses and, frankly, out of desire to be away from the angel. With a picnic basket full of everything Aziraphale liked, in his trunk, just in case, he approached the bookshop.

Friends. They could be friends.

His hand decidedly did not tremble as he turned the knob, the action- a great surprise to a door that was quite sure it had been locked a minute ago.

"I'm afraid we are closed today," a polite voice drifted in the shop as the bell rang. Aziraphale was leaning over the desk/barely used register, his back turned to him and Crowley thanked _Someone_ that demons didn't need to breathe.

"At this point, calling this a book _shop_ seems like a stretch, doesn't it?" he teased, lips pulling into a well-practiced smirk.

He watched as Aziraphale's shoulders twitched slightly before the other turned to face him. The angel smiled. It was the smile that had haunted Crowley's nightmares for years now, always so close yet every time he turned towards it, it would disappear. The demon almost shielded his eyes from the sheer energy of it, the beauty, the fact he had thought he would never get to witness it again.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale almost squealed and the demon would have teased him for sounding like a child on Christmas Eve.

In fact, he opened his mouth to do just that when the angel turned around, leaning back on the desk, cheeks dusted pink with delight. Suddenly, Crowley had to work really hard to remind himself that friends did _not_ want to push their friends on top of the nearest flat surface and ravish them until they begged.

And, oh, how much his body yearned to hear Aziraphale beg.

"Fancy seeing you here," his voice was taunting, not a drop of nerves painting it. He sauntered to the other, taking care to sway his hips just right and feeling annoyance gnaw at him when the angel didn't even look.

Crowley wondered how they used to greet each other, before all of this. Did people still kiss? The demon very much wanted to kiss Aziraphale, which he took as a clear sign it would be the wrong thing to do.

He settled on leaning against a bookshelf, close enough to see the little laughter lines around the angel's eyes and have that sweet unearthly smell twist something in his belly. Aziraphale was still smiling, his eyes roaming over the demon's body as if taking him all in, and it should have felt invasive, but instead it was just... warm. Crowley could feel something deep inside him glowing, like it was reaching out.

Friends didn't feel this way, did they?

"Guess I can't convince you to leave behind your terribly profitable business for one night?" Crowley asked, instead. His tongue itched to come out and lick his lips so he bit it.

Aziraphale gave a mock sigh, body leaning back, almost sitting on the desk now and the demon had to look away.

"I suppose I can try fitting you in my busy schedule, dear boy." The angel cocked his head while Crowley tried desperately not to cough out something that had gotten stuck in his throat at the endearment. "Only if the food is good."

"I know you too well to tempt you with anything less than divine." Crowley wiggled his eyebrows, the thought of something else that tasted divine making his insides feel unbelievable warm before he managed to banish it.

The demon had never had any actual friends, or even creatures he could tolerate, so everything was a bit new to him. Did friends open the door for each other? Aziraphale did, so they must and he was ecstatic to return the favour when they neared his Bentley. Friends apparently did _not_ casually place a hand on the other's back, guiding him inside the car. The way the angel flinched would make sure this fact was seared in his brain.

It had been centuries since he had had to censor his touch and he was hyper aware of the hand on his lap, itching to reach out and touch the other's knee. Not that Aziraphale noticed, babbling away about modern literature, famous authors he had gotten to meet and those pesky customers who thought they could get away with buying his books. It felt like a volcanic eruption and the demon let himself treasure the burn of the lava.

Aziraphale never asked him about what he had done, which was all for the best. Crowley did not feel like divulging all the tempting he had been forced to carry out. He suspected his friend already knew as much.

"You can't believe how happy I am that you are back," Aziraphale suddenly beamed at him and the demon had to work really hard not to let the shiver that ran down his spine show. "Especially after what happened, before." That part, nothing but a breathless whisper, and the smile was gone now, replaced by despair and shame. The demon much rather his friend shouted at him, he would take a thousand words that felt like a rusty knife to his heart, if it meant his angel didn't look like his bookshop had just burnt down.

Crowley waved a hand to stop him. Here he was, the love of his existence next to him, skin feeling like it would leave his body behind just for the chance of a single touch, while said love wanted to discuss that time the demon had made him break down, in public, over the fact Crowley was in love with him. He could not possibly be _better_.

The angel looked at him, calculating, probably wondering if he should push it and he definitely shouldn't, because Crowley had never learned how to say no to his friend.

Luckily, Satan had mercy on him, and after one last worried glance, Aziraphale was talking about that new Bible he had procured. Crowley let out a breath he hadn't known was stuck in his chest.

By the time they arrived to the place the demon had chosen, the sun had started to bleed on the horizon. If pressed, Crowley would have said it was because after a few years the angel was surely not accustomed to the speed of the car and the demon didn't want him getting sick all over the leather seats. Certainly not because he had missed the way Aziraphale's voice sounded when he was excited about something. That would be ridiculous.

"Here we are," Crowley stated as he parked the car. His voice was even, void of the anxiety making his stomach twist, as he fought his every urge to see the angel's reaction.

Not that he needed to, the moment they stopped Aziraphale gasped happily.

"A drive-through theater! You know, my dear, I can't say I have actually been!" The angel was turning to beam at him and without thinking Crowley returned it, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. Like a shadow, something dark passed through the other's face as he averted his gaze.

Perfect. 'Tell him you love him, _again_ , why don't you?' the demon scolded himself even when his features stayed carefully blank.

Something else occurred to Aziraphale and his nose scrunched slightly. Crowley did not stare.

"Although, popcorn can hardly be called divine, mind you," the angel pouted, a little too forcefully, but Crowley was all too happy to jump on the lifeboat in front of him.

With a snap of his fingers there was a small table in front of Aziraphale, crowded with all sorts of pastries and sandwiches and sweets, a black thermos of cocoa towering over everything. The demon ran a discreet hand through the interior of the Bentley, apologising to it silently for what was about to happen.

"Crowley," the angel gasped with delight. The demon decidedly did not remember the last time he had coaxed out a sound like that out of bitten-red lips.

"Shut up," he drawled, before pointing a threatening finger at his friend. "And if I see even a crumb on the floor so help me Someone, you will be walking to the bookshop."

Aziraphale giggled even as he gingerly took a bite out of a cookie, lips wrapping around it carefully to catch every last bit of it.

Crowley stared at the screen, instead. It took the angel a bit longer to shift his focus away from the spread in front of him but when he did, there was another gasp of surprise and the demon had to chase the urge to do anything in his power just to keep hearing that sound again.

"Is this Hamlet? Oh, you really didn't have to, my dear. I know how much you didn't like Will's gloomy ones."

"You did." Crowley shrugged like it was reason enough. In his mind, it was.

Friends were able to ignore the radiant sunshine that was their friend, weren't they? Yet, Crowley found himself paying more attention to the angel than the screen, the way his eyes closed when he took a bite of something particularly scrumptious, the way he smiled at the movie, how close he was. Crowley just needed to reach a hand and he would feel his warmth, the softness of his skin.

His eyes snapped to the screen and refused to leave it, even after he realized it was not the best movie, especially if one had seen the original.

"I do feel Will's one was far superior," Aziraphale noted as if having read his thoughts. A soft moan followed, which Crowley could only assume meant the other had found the chocolate cake.

The demon shifted just slightly, before he responded, "It was that skinny fellow, he was pretty good."

Aziraphale gave him a sidelong glance. "Burbage?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Burbage? The actor?"

Crowley shrugged, it wasn't like him to remember the names of random humans from centuries ago. "I suppose. It's not like I talked to the guy. You were the one who was always there, hanging on to his 'to be or not to be' rubbish."

There might have been a sharpness in his voice, which he drowned with the closest pastry. It was the only reason he even remembered the boy, the way he seemed to gravitate towards the angel, always inserting himself into their conversations.

Aziraphale was looking at him, his lips slightly pursed, as if he was debating whether or not to reveal the Ineffable Plan to the demon. A stone nestled inside Crowley's stomach. It occurred to him that something _might_ have happened between them, he had always been so overzealous when it came to protecting his friend from William, he had never thought... Crowley swallowed down a growl, friend or not, if that boy had even laid a finger on _his_ angel, he would personally track him down and make a belt out of his skin.

"He was quite smitten with you, you know?" Aziraphale finally said, voice carefully level. "He couldn't stop talking about you apparently, according to Will."

The demon snorted. As if someone would pay him any mind when a creature as beautiful and gentle as Aziraphale was around. Still, he couldn't help the relief that washed over him like summer rain. "Can't say I could return the sentiment."

"No," there was something in the angel's voice that sounded final and broken, like a last goodbye. "I don't suppose you could."

It took Crowley less than a second to realize what he had just said, and even less to stop the wince from showing on his face. Outstanding job, reminding the angel he had been in love with him for centuries. That would surely help with their friendship.

"At least we are not the only ones not enjoying the movie. Those two have the right idea," Crowley sneered, head nodding to the car to their far right where a couple was far more engrossed in each other than the guy waxing poetry on the screen.

He was trying to dispel the fog of uneasiness that had settled above them, coax the angel into voicing his ever present irk that humans simply could not appreciate art. What he had not expected was Aziraphale flinching, whole body jerking up and then pressing, just slightly, into the corner of his seat, as far away from the demon as possible.

Crowley rolled his eyes, although what he really wanted to do was bash his head repeatedly against the wheel. He didn't know what was worse, the fact that the angel had thought this is what he was insinuating, how frazzled he looked by it, or that for one tiny moment the demon had, in fact, considered it.

"Come on, angel," he teased, the name he had been biting back all night slipping easily when he least expected, "like I'm going to risk dirtying the Bentley for a quick fumble in the backseat."

He would have, in a heartbeat. He would have done far worse for even a chance to touch the angel, let alone have him writhing underneath him, pressed so close. Not that Aziraphale needed to know that, judging by the horrified look he shot him. At least the other would never assume he had gotten soft.

Crowley had yet to decide whether this was a good or a bad thing.

The demon growled at himself, it was clear what he needed to do- he just had to stop bloody talking. He couldn't possibly jam his foot even further inside his mouth if it was bolted shut. And in order to make it seem more natural, he opted for trying to eat as many pastries as possible, simultaneously. It would have been the perfect plan and he _would_ have gotten away with it, Crowley was sure of it, had Aziraphale not chosen the moment his cheeks were stuffed like those of a chipmunk to talk to him. His friend stared at him, jaw flying wide open, and if Hell had swallowed the demon right this second, Crowley couldn't have thanked Satan enough.

And then Aziraphale was laughing, so hard his body was shaking, eyes sparkling.

"My dear," the angel managed between giggles and his voice sounded so breathless it made something stir in Crowley's chest. "What would you say to going back to the shop and getting shamelessly drunk?"

Aziraphale was leaning towards him, his cheeks flushed with laughter and it almost felt like nothing was wrong. Things could go back to the way they were before. Crowley grinned as he started the car, the movie in front of them all but forgotten.

* * *

 

Crowley had hoped alcohol would help. In a way, it did. Aziraphale no longer looked like a fawn, forced to share space with a giant snake, but a very, _very_ enthusiastic drunk. He was talking about something, gesturing madly and the demon just... looked at him.

Aziraphale was beautiful. All angels were, it was their job, but his one, he was real. He was slurring a little, his lips stained a pretty red from all the wine, a sheen covering his skin. Crowley wanted to kiss him. His body ached for it, fingers itching just to reach, just once. The demon was pathetic, of course. He had spent millennia without a kiss, a touch, and now he couldn't be the angel's friend for a single night?

They had to be friends. The alternative was far too horrible to even consider.

Aziraphale had stopped talking and was staring at him expectantly and Crowley felt himself nod, automatically. He didn't know what he was agreeing to, but then again he doubted he would have refused anyway. It must have been the right thing to do, the angel beamed at him approvingly and switched his position from the armchair to the couch, right next to Crowley.

Oh.

The demon stopped breathing. Even when his body started screaming at him for air, he only reminded it it didn't technically need it. The alternative would have been breathing in the other's scent, mixed with wine and chocolate and Crowley was strong, he wouldn't have survived all those millennia if he wasn't. But he wasn't that strong.

Completely oblivious, and wasn't he always, Aziraphale was leaning into him, making panic seize his whole body. Satan knew, if the angel initiated anything he would not be able to stop him. It would be cruel, expecting that of him. But just when Aziraphale was close, close _enough_ , a book materialized in his lap and the angel brandished it excitedly.

Crowley should have been relieved. He tried very hard to be.

A few bottles later and the demon was sprawled on the couch, Aziraphale leaning into him, head practically on his shoulder. It felt so nice, Crowley dared not move, lest he remind the other that friends did not get so close.

Or did they? He remembered so many nights that had ended just like this, _before_ , and, yes, he had longed for a touch but it had been an easy notion to shake. There had always been the fear that the angel would reject him, holding him back. Now, when he knew that body, knew exactly where to kiss to make the other thrash in his arms, and sob and beg, the need to do it was overwhelming, almost drowning him.

And then, because it could always be worse in Crowley's life, the angel was tipping his head to smile at him, just as he was turning to look at him. They were so close, their noses brushed together, breathes mingling.

They could never be friends.

The thought struck Crowley, quick and painful, like a lightning. He would never be able to look at this gorgeous and pure creature and not want to devour him. He was greedy and selfish, and there was panic in Aziraphale's eyes, panic that no doubt was mirrored by the one in the demon's own eyes.

Crowley scrambled back, with all the grace of a newborn giraffe, just as the angel reached out for him. Of course he would, even when the demon had ruined everything, his friend was determined to comfort _him_ and make sure he was alright.

Why couldn't Aziraphale react like a normal person and just tell him to piss off. It would be unbearable and it would hurt so much but Crowley would do it, he could never say no to the angel. Instead, Aziraphale was trying to touch him, his eyes wide and apologetic and Crowley was too much of a bastard to leave on his own.

But there was something in the way the other looked at him, desperate and broken and the demon wanted to kiss that look away even when he knew it would only make it worse. It made something stir in him, that ancient desire to please the other, put him above everything else.

They would be friends. Even if it killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, I know! BUT I'm back with almost 4k words worth of pining Crowley, so you can't really be mad!


	9. England 1967

_England 1967_

The first time Aziraphale poked his head in the backroom, Crowley was still sleeping, having not moved a muscle. All soft angles and sprawled limbs as he basked in the sunlight. Having once spent a few weeks tracking the sun's beams as they entered his shop in order to find the perfect spot for the couch, the angel felt a tinge of pride to see it hadn't been for nothing.

His eyes began wandering, as they often did, taking in the sharp contrast between Crowley's pale skin and his black polo neck shirt, the slow rise and fall of his chest, down to the impossibly tight leather pants, hugging every curve of the demon's legs. He looked beautifully content, like a puzzle piece finally in its place. With a start, the angel realized he probably had clients to chase away.

The second time, a few hours later, Aziraphale was on a mission. Crowley had suddenly appeared in his shop in the wee hours of the night, swaying horribly, unable to say a word and just collapsing on the couch. The angel didn't have all the details of what exactly had happened, but clearly his friend had had a bit too much to drink and Aziraphale knew only one way, save a miracle, to treat a hangover.

"Crowley," he whispered, shaking the other's shoulder, careful not to let his fingers linger. The demon moaned as he pressed into the touch slightly, but otherwise gave no indication of waking up. Aziraphale tried again.

"Wha?" His friend smacked his lips a few times, grimacing. Aziraphale instead tried focusing on getting him to sit up, or, what Crowley was very insistent on doing- its distant cousin.

"Come now, my dear, have this and you can continue your nap." Aziraphale tried to channel as much of his angelic power into the words as possible, it was terribly hard to get the demon to do what he wanted when he refused to look at him. Thankfully, his friend groaned and mumbled, but ultimately wrapped a hand around the glass of water the angel was pushing into him. "The pill as well, Crowley," Aziraphale scolded and that also took a while as the demon still insisted on pawing the air like a blind man.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake, just open your mouth," finally, the angel hissed, exasperated. Crowley obeyed so instantaneously, it made a shiver run down his spine and Aziraphale tried really hard not to dwell on it. Nor on the way the other looked, so open and trusting, lips red and soft and the angel could kiss him, could push him back, climb into his lap and kiss him.

And then what? Crowley would push him away and never speak to him again? Or worse, the demon would return it and they will be back where they had been, half a century ago. Aziraphale would have his body, his touch and his tenderness but he wouldn't have his love.

This time, he wouldn't even be able to pretend there was a chance. No, the angel really couldn't go through this again.

Aziraphale popped the pill in his friend's mouth, careful not to touch him, and focused on the demon again. He frowned.

"Crowley, how much did you have yesterday, you are looking terribly flushed. Maybe you should take off your shirt?"

Could demons even get a fever? His palm burned to press against the other's forehead, but he ignored it.

"Are you trying to get me _indecent_ , angel?" Crowley drawled, letting his body fall back down. He couldn't possible be that sick if he was still able to be such a pain in the ass.

Seeing as the demon was still refusing to look at him, Aziraphale had to only focus on keeping his voice level and not on chasing away the blush, heating up his cheeks.

"There is no need to act like that," he chided. Then, a little bit softer, "What did you have to drink yesterday, anyway?"

"Oh, angel," Crowley's voice had no business being this mocking while he was half-passed out on his friend's couch. "Who said anything about drinking?"

Aziraphale tutted, a bit louder than was strictly necessary. To insinuate he, an angel, took pleasure in the way the other cradled his head with a groan, would be, frankly, ridiculous.

The third time Aziraphale visited the overgrown baby that was taking over his backroom, he was forced to.

"Angeeeeel," Crowley's whine echoed around the bookshop, startling most of the patrons and making some of them smile in a very knowing way, which the angel did not trust one bit. Aziraphale gave an apologetic look, before ducking into the other room.

"What?" he groaned. Crowley had taken his advice to heart and was now wearing a black t-shirt with the name of one of those yell-y groups printed on the front. Aziraphale decidedly did not stare at where it was riding up, exposing a flat stomach.

"Your customers are too _loud_. Make them leave!"

"Need I remind you, dear boy, that this is a shop?" Aziraphale knew he was being unfair, he had chased away customers for far less. But Crowley was just too adorable for the angel to resist teasing him.

A yellow eye opened lazily, making something electric coil under his stomach. He idly wondered if Crowley could read his mind, but surely if he did, he wouldn't even look at him again.

"If you don't want to, I can easily do it?" The demon's voice was sickly sweet and so was his smile. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, trying hard not to let the affection swelling inside his chest shine through.

Most of the customers were already leaving, muttering something about, of all things, the mafia? It only took a few chosen thoughts channeled to the remaining people and oh, one of them had a wife that was expecting, wouldn't it be nice if he went to spend time with her, or that nice lady's mother was sick, bless her, she would surely enjoy some homemade soup. In a few short moments, Aziraphale was in the backroom, sitting primly in his armchair.

"Really, my dear," he sighed, a gentle whisper more than anything. "You need to tell me what's going on."

Crowley was sitting up now, somehow taking up the whole couch, head hanging limply from the back of it. He looked strangely pale and the sudden urge to gather him in his arms and nurse him to health made Aziraphale feel dizzy.

He was being ridiculous. The angel couldn't even risk laying a comforting hand on the other's knee, without the desire for more poisoning his mind. He settled for moulding his face into a concerned grimace.

"You know about Hell's plan for the Apocalypse, right?" Crowley answered just when the angel had started to come to terms with the fact he might spend the whole day just staring at the other. Unfortunately, the demon's words didn't leave him any less confused than before.

Aziraphale's brows furrowed. Of everything he had thought they needed to discuss, the end of times was notably low on the list.

"Vaguely," he ventured, finally. "I know about the four Horsemen riding and the Antichrist and then there will be a battle and we will win."

Crowley raised an eyebrow, but refused to comment on what he would surely call daft optimism. "Yep," instead, he agreed in his annoyingly endearing way of popping the 'p'. "Well, they are starting to prepare. We have a few decades at best and then... we are fucked."

The angel's wince at the profanity was instinctive, but then the other parts of his friend's words sunk in his brain. Surely, he had known it would happen, in that distant way all mortals knew they would certainly die some day. But to imagine it was already, as they said, 'in the works', that was just... horrible.

He gazed at the demon, a deep longing burning at his heart like acid. A world without Crowley sounded about as unappealing as a world without sound or light. Suddenly, he could relate to the other's desire to stuff his body with as many drugs as possible.

Aziraphale let his hand fall on top of the demon's leg. He felt, under the circumstances, such a display fell in line with their slightly strained friendship. Crowley's thigh felt warm and inviting under his touch and the angel even allowed himself to squeeze it lightly.

"I'm sure Heaven is working very hard to prevent that," his voice held more assurance than he, himself, felt. It still made the demon go lax, legs stretching out slightly more, almost entangling with Aziraphale's own.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, the angel only realizing he was still touching his friend, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his thigh, when a breathless whimper broke it. It made Aziraphale snatch his hand like it had found itself in a vat of boiling water. He knew that whimper, had spent the good half of this millennium chasing it out of kiss-swollen lips. Even now, it made fire burst under his skin as his body yearned to hear it again.

Crowley did look distressed, surely, he would benefit from the angel trying to get him to relax. If he could just slip his hand there again, maybe a little bit higher... Wide-eyed, Aziraphale managed to snap out of his trance. He had thought, once, he could indulge in the matters of the flesh without longing for the demon's heart. He had, of course, been sorely mistaken.

The reminder that he had to be grateful for the demon's friendship ran through his mind, a million times, like a mantra.

"Look," Crowley started and despite the way his chest was moving, a bit more rapid than the angel found normal, his voice was surprisingly level. "If it does come to a war I want you to know I..."

Aziraphale stopped him. If there was anything that would hurt more than the fact the demon would fight against him, it would probably be hearing his friend admit it.

"I know. I understand." He nodded, reassuringly, even if he wanted to do anything but. They were friends, had been for so very long, but the angel would never expect Crowley to abandon Hell for him, to defect. For as much as they liked to pretend they were on _"their"_ side, they both knew it was just a prelude before the main story. No, if it _did_ come to it, Aziraphale would rather die than raise a hand against the demon. He suspected that would be his downfall. "If it makes you feel any better, I would do the same," he lied, the words stinging his tongue.

Crowley's eyes were cold as he stared at the angel and Aziraphale wanted to reach out and touch him again, assure him that it wouldn't come to this. Instead, he dug his nails into his palms, so hard he broke skin.

"Right," the demon said slowly, before slapping his knees with force the angel did not approve of. "Well, if you don't mind I still have at least a few dozen drugs in my system to sleep off."

Aziraphale could have reminded him this was still, strictly speaking, _his_ bookshop. He could have moved to the shop and busied himself with cataloguing the books. He could have even went upstairs, not to disturb the sleeping demon. There were a lot of things he could have done, but what he really wanted was to curl up in his armchair, a nice book in his lap and Crowley so close he could hear his even breathing, could see the way his eyelashes fluttered just slightly.

It was delightfully domestic, and perhaps, if Aziraphale was in the mood for penance, he could pretend it was just a normal part of their life.

* * *

  
When Crowley continued with his behaviour, going out all night and doing God knew what, the angel did not comment. He wanted to, the worry gnawing at his bones until they were but dust, but he didn't think it was his place. Besides, the angel himself had an array of self-destructive habits, who was he to judge.

However, things took a different, darker, shape when he found out Crowley was recruiting humans to rob a church. Clumsy, _stupid_ humans, who didn't know what even a drop of holy water would do to the demon. The image of Crowley as a puddle somewhere, the same one that had haunted him every time he closed his eyes for 27 years flickered before him. But now, no matter how many times he blinked, it would not go away, as if etched in front of his pupils.

Stealing was a sin, but so was lying. In a way, so was loving a demon. It had never stopped Aziraphale before.

That's how he found himself, sitting in the Bentley, handing over the only thing capable of destroying the only creature he had ever wanted to keep safe. He had put a miracle on the thermos, it would never open unless Crowley really, desperately wanted it to, and it made him feel better, just slightly.

Aziraphale had done the right thing, he reassured himself. The angel couldn't imagine how the exchange would have gone with the humans. A stray drop here, a cap not properly tightened, waiting to spill, wet hands touching his demon. No, if someone was to do this, it had to be Aziraphale.

"I'll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go." Crowley's voice had a gentleness he hadn't heard in decades, one he had never gotten used to hearing and it made the grip around his heart tighten a little bit more.

'It's not about wanting to _go_ some _where_ ,' Aziraphale desperately wanted to say. He wanted to cry but mostly, he wanted the demon to comfort him. He wanted to be gathered in a hug and held, rocked slightly. To feel Crowley's weight around him, on top of him, his fingers dancing on his skin as if mapping every inch of the angel's body.

And the worst thing, the most horrible truth that made him want to engulf himself in Hellfire, was that Crowley would give it to him, without a second thought.

In fact, the demon looked like he might be the one to suggest it. 'In the spirit of old times,' surely, he would joke and a tiny part of Aziraphale's heart would shatter.

He wondered how many times that could happen until he had nothing left at all.

Aziraphale steadied himself with a breath, careful to keep the despair from shaking his body. The demon was looking at him, something hopeful radiating from every pore of his being and the angel had to force himself to meet his gaze. He wanted to, God forgive him, he did. Just this time, just once. He deserved it.

No. What Aziraphale wanted was for them to be friends. For things to be the same as they had once been. Nothing more, especially nothing Crowley could offer him. Any kiss, any caress, it wouldn't be real. And it would hurt, once the charade was over, and this time, it quite possible might kill him.

"You go too fast for me, Crowley," Aziraphale whispered around a sigh and then he was gone. Hopefully, before the other noticed the way his eyes were glistening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say, thank you guys so much for all the positive feedback! Every time I get a comment it honestly makes me blush so hard. I'm really glad I'm able to hurt you (in the best way) as much as I hurt myself, thinking about these idiots!!
> 
> Also, I did actually entertain the idea of having the chapters from both POVs. Especially 1793 because you just KNOW Crowley just about died when Aziraphale offered to "show" his thanks. But I feel it's a bit more angsty when you only get to see what one of these morons sees and how they interpret it. And it makes it more challenging for me to show what the other is feeling, without being too revealing, which I absolutely love. Although, I feel it would be all pretty clear if they didn't have one brain cell between the two of them, that they still somehow refused to use.


	10. England 2008

_England 2008 (11 Years Before The Apocalypse)_

They were fucked.

The Antichrist was safely tucked away with his new family and they had 11 years before everything got royally screwed up.

It would have been better if Aziraphale wasn't so against helping him. It wouldn't have hurt so much if Crowley didn't have to use dirty tricks and _earthly pleasures_ to tempt the angel.

Crowley wanted to scream. He wanted to grab the angel's shoulders and shake him. Most of all, he wanted to beg.

The great tempter Crowley, he wanted to get on his knees and plead Aziraphale just this time, just once, to be on _their_ side. To tell him he loved him as no rational being could love another, that he needed him like he needed air and light and food. More, because the demon actually could survive without sustenance and Aziraphale was the only sun he had even wanted.

Crowley wanted to tell him he'd much rather douse himself with holy water than fight the angel. That the pain of holiness melting every atom, every fiber of his being would be better than seeing those blue eyes cloud with righteous judgement. Than seeing those strong arms, every curve of which his lips still remembered, raise to smite him.

That it didn't matter which side won, because Crowley would be dead either way, if he had to live without him.

But Aziraphale already knew that, had known that for a while. It still wasn't enough. The demon needed to remind him it was his _job_ to stop his evil ways to make the other help him.

In order to get even a chance of more time with the angel, Crowley had to reduce himself to being his enemy. No, to _remind_ him they were enemies. As if everything that had transpired between them, the endless nights, the playful teasing, the shared smiles. All of that was gone, and they were back to being an angel and a demon, hereditary enemies, on two opposite sides. The archetypes of good and evil.

They were drinking again, to celebrate being godfathers. Aziraphale was. To Crowley, it felt a little more like punishment.

"You know," the demon slurred from the couch. He had somehow found himself laying the wrong way around on it, his head hanging limply upside down from its edge. The angel was smiling at him affectionately and he looked different from Crowley's position, like a dream, almost surreal. It made it easier for the demon to say, "You are gorgeousss."

There was a chuckle from the general vicinity of the angel and a hand reached out for him, probably with the intention of ruffling his hair. The problem was that even though Aziraphale had not had nearly as much wine as the demon, he had still had enough to miss Crowley's head completely and instead run delicate fingers over the other's neck. Not that the demon particularly minded, something he would never admit was a mew falling from his lips as he pressed into the touch.

"You are drunk, dear," Aziraphale sounded amused and he was right. Crowley was drunk enough not to hide the shiver that ran through him at the endearment.

"Mmm," the demon said noncommittally. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again he suspected he might have blacked out for a while. Aziraphale was running his blunt fingers over his skin, humming something quietly, and Crowley thought perhaps he had not even awoken yet.

"That may be so," he pointed out as he brandished a finger, trying to look more in control than he was and failing miserably. "But tomorrow I'll be sober and you will still be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

The fingers froze, but the demon could still feel the hot trails of their path on his skin. Had he not been so devastatingly drunk, so pathetically desperate for the angel to touch him again, he would have worried that his words were moving him into a territory he would not be able to leave with his heart intact.

As it was, Crowley only felt warm, like the sun had suddenly made its way inside his stomach, as strong hands got a hold of him.

"Let's get you up, dear," his angel whispered, straightening him up.

The places where Aziraphale was touching him felt nice, as if he was a flower and the other was there, helping him bloom. He was suddenly upright, the angel sitting next to him and Crowley leaned towards him, drawn like a magnet.

"I mean it." It was hard, keeping his eyes open but he tried. The world was ending and they were fucked and Aziraphale was looking at him, something so open and earnest in his eyes, and nothing else mattered.

They were very close, Crowley realized in an absent-minded way. Aziraphale still hadn't moved away and if the demon twisted his head just right, if he narrowed his eyes slightly, he could see something in the way the angel was looking at him, something that if he was feeling optimistic he could read as hope.

Crowley stretched a hand and watched with amazement as the other closed his eyes, lashes fluttering.

"May I kiss you?" the demon breathed out and it must have been the wrong thing because Aziraphale crumbled under his touch. With the tiniest sob, the angel flinched away, his features sagging, as if suddenly feeling the weight of being on the Earth for six thousand years.

If he had been sober, Crowley would have seen how it must have looked- like he was so desperate for a shag he would say anything. But the demon was safely cocooned in the warmth of the alcohol and the only coherent thought running through his mind was that even looking like that, Crowley would not trade the angel for anything.

But there was another thought, distant, but approaching quickly, its ring cutting through the haze.

'I made him sad.'

"Please?" he pressed, before the inevitable happened and the thought made him come to his senses.

Aziraphale was shaking his head, his face was looking better now but it seemed like it had suddenly obtained a few extra lines. There was a half smile, a little thing, and Crowley wanted to kiss it and watch it bloom, watch it beam.

"I don't think that's wise." There was a pat too, on his hand, but it didn't feel warm. A whine that would usually horrify him escaped Crowley's parted lips.

The demon would forget a lot of what had transpired that night. There would be moments where his memory would wane, some, because he hadn't been paying attention to what the angel had been saying, instead opting to stare shamelessly at his mouth. Others, because he had banished the memories, the thought of them more hurtful than any torture Hell could come up with.

But there was one sentence, one moment, that would imprint itself in his mind for years to come. He would do everything to change this fact, bash his head against the hardest surface he could find, drink until he couldn't remember his name. It wouldn't help.

"You burn too bright for me, dear," Aziraphale's voice- a gentle caress as he desperately tried to smile at the demon.

It didn't sound like something that would feel like daggers in Crowley's heart or would make him taste copper in his mouth. It almost sounded like a compliment and the demon hummed happily, letting his body lean on the soft cloud that was the other.

One had to have an intimate knowledge of the way Aziraphale thought to see what it actually meant. For instance, one might have spent countless centuries being the angel's friend, watching over him from the shadows. One must have been able to know when Aziraphale was angry or pleased or hungry just by the way his lips quirked.

And once Crowley was sober enough he would fit that profile. He would also realize what his friend had said.

Crowley was a snake, a cold-blooded reptile that never quite forgot the warmth of Heaven. Burning, for him, was a sacred word, a temptation, the only thing that could come even close to being engulfed in the angel's embrace.

For Aziraphale burning just meant destruction and pain and things gone forever. It meant flames licking at his skin until it was nothing but ash.

Crowley had gone too fast, again, and once he realized that, once the wall around his brain, built by the alcohol, crumbled down, he would feel terror he hadn't felt ever since he Fell. He had wanted too much, too soon, like he always did. He had gone _too fast for him_ and Aziraphale was afraid it would burn him.

If he had been even an ounce more sober he would have explained that his love might burn, yes, but it would never hurt. It would never destroy. And it would be there, gently warming the angel's skin like a summer ray long after Aziraphale found out the wretched being that the demon was and lost interest in him.

That the only pure thing within Crowley, as if a part of the angel himself, was his love.

Luckily for him, the demon was yet to sober up. For now, he was content with nuzzling his head in the other's neck, basking in the warmth that was the angel's body, trying to commit his scent to memory. 11 years. And then all of this would be gone. There would be either Heaven or Hell, not the little mixture of both they had built so many centuries ago. Quite frankly, Crowley would also be gone, either way.

Aziraphale's neck was a breath away and the demon's mouth was opening, ready to worship it but he couldn't. Even drunk, he knew the angel hadn't allowed him to, he couldn't kiss him, it would make Aziraphale mad.

"You're warm," instead he mouthed against the other's skin and there was a shiver there, against his lips. He pressed closer to catch it, just slightly.

Fingers buried in his hair, tugging him away. Crowley was smart, he didn't make a sound, even when every single hair on his head felt like it had been electrocuted. The demon had learnt his lesson from before- voice his pleasure and the touch would be gone and he would spend countless nights imagining how far it would have gone, how high _that hand could have gone_.

"Please, just sleep, dear." Aziraphale's voice sounded strained, almost ready to snap. Crowley didn't want him to snap. He knew what happened when the angel snapped. They didn't have the _time_ for that.

But there had been something very important he had wanted to tell Aziraphale, something that was still stuck in his throat, a burning coal. It hadn't been a bad thing, he remembered as much, but it had still made his heart go a little funny.

Oh, well. If it was important he would tell the angel tomorrow. Crowley closed his eyes.

The next day, nether of them acknowledged what had happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone else feel like we are making progress? I swear, one of these days...
> 
> In other news, next chapter might take a biiit longer than the 2 days I've been aiming for in the past (I'll still, hopefully, post on the weekend, or at the very worst- beginning of next week). BUT! It's going to be longer, a little different and I cannot wait to start writing it. Make of that whatever you want :P


	11. Spain 2012

_Spain 2012 (7 Years Before The Apocalypse)_

Crowley was in a good mood. At least in a better mood than Aziraphale had seen him in 4 years, which wasn't saying much.

The angel could sense his, well, not _happiness_ , even before the other's lips twitched, the closest to a smile they have been ever since this whole mess started. There was a dull ache in Aziraphale's heart, as if it had only just begun beating. He tried not to stare, focusing his attention on the little plant being thrust in his hands, instead.

"Don't touch its leaves," Crowley stopped him when the angel tried to do just that. "And make sure to water it every 2 days-"

But Aziraphale was not listening, his fingers tracing the little trembling pot.

"You poor, little thing," he cooed. The demon snapped his mouth shut, staring at him, something unreadable on his face but he ignored him. "Was Crowley mean to you? You don't have to worry about him anymore, I will take excellent care of you."

The leaves had stopped rustling and it might have been a trick of the light but it almost looked as if it was reaching for the angel's smiling face.

"Did you tell it you were putting it in the garbage disposal, _again_?" Aziraphale's voice was cutting. Crowley's plants may have been beautiful, even those that ended up in the angel's care, but it always took weeks to make them understand that nobody was going to hurt them.

His words managed to shake Crowley out of his daze and he growled, "Fuck right, I did. And I will still be here, every day to check on it. If that spot is not gone I _am_ going to shred every single inch of it!"

"Oh, look at what you did," the angel chided as the plant started shaking even harder than before. It was of no use arguing, he realized when the other just shrugged at him. Carefully, he placed the little thing next to the others before gesturing to the backroom.

"I have a plan." From his place on the couch, Crowley smirked as if he had already revealed said plan and Aziraphale had readily agreed to it. "The Dowlings are going on a vacation!"

The angel knew he should be happy about that information, but only because the other had shared it in a way that expected such a reaction. Then again, over the years he had quickly realized they had very different definitions of "good news".

Aziraphale waited a beat for the demon to continue but when the other just smirked at him silently, he pressed, "Yes?"

" _And_ , angel, this is our way in!" Crowley straightened up, his hands gesturing madly like they did only when he was truly excited about something. "We bump into them, "Oh, sorry, didn't mean to-", get close and do some scouting!"

The angel stared at him, nodded, then stared again. "And we can't do that from here because?"

Aziraphale was glad the demon's eyeballs were firmly attached to his head because they might have fallen on the floor otherwise, considering how hard Crowley rolled them.

"Angel, do you just stare prettily at me while I talk?" Aziraphale refused to dignify this with a response. He also tried very hard not to let his flush reveal how truthful the demon's accusation was. "The woman simply does not leave the house, anything that needs to be done she has other people do. Ted... he is so far gone, I don't think he even remembers his wife's name. And I know that because I have spent extraordinary amount of time trying to wrench it out of him. It's all "President this" and "President that." Satan, he is exhausting."

"It would be nice to know her name," the angel noted, mainly because he felt the other expected him to say something. Crowley waved a hand at him, like he had just made a note about the weather. "Well, thank you for sharing this information with me. I gather, the plan is to simply go there and talk to them, yes?"

Crowley's face fell, his smirk faltering, but it was so quick and in a blink of an eye the demon was his normal smug self again. It almost made Aziraphale think he had imagined it.

"Did I say something wrong, my dear?" he prodded, just in case. The past few years, the angel had spent almost every second they had been together staring at Crowley. He told himself it was because they were working side by side to prevent the Apocalypse and he had to keep an eye on the demon, lest his friend tried to double cross him. He was, almost certainly, not trying to imprint every inch of the other's face in his memory. In any case, reading Crowley had slowly started feeling as easy as reading a book and there was something that was troubling the other.

"It's nothing," the demon protested but two arching brows later and he was relenting. "It's just- We have been working so hard on this and I don't work hard. Demons usually don't. And I have never been on a tropical island, what is even there to _do_ in such a place? Not like there are people you can tempt there, everyone who goes is already beyond saving. It's like going to a buffet already full-"

Crowley was rambling, a little flush creeping up his neck. This was also new. Aziraphale might have been making an effort to understand the demon but it was only made possible by the fact his friend was not hiding so much anymore. It seemed the end of times was affecting them both.

"Your point?" Aziraphale stopped him gently.

"Vacation." Crowley spread his hands like that word explained everything. It did, in a way, but the angel didn't want to presume anything so he waited patiently. "We deserve one."

"I don't think my side will like that." Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head slightly. "Of course, _you_ can always go and... have fun," he trailed off awkwardly, the images of Crowley half naked on some beach, with someone else, making him want to burn his brain with Hellfire.

Not now. Don't start now.

He had been doing so well, keeping his desires to himself. Only barely indulging with a touch here, a brush of the fingers there. He couldn't risk more, not now, not when he _needed_ Crowley.

The demon flinched, like someone had just threatened to splash him with holy water.

"Oh, come on, angel. I've spent weeks in this room. I don't think your side gives a shit anymore." Aziraphale was considering it and Crowley must have sensed that as he teased, grinning sharply, "Besides, I'm a demon. You can't trust me to tell you everything."

The angel had an answering smile, albeit far softer. "That _is_ true, you wily old serpent. I suppose I would have to come. To keep an eye on you, you see." Aziraphale mock sighed, ignoring the warmth spreading inside his stomach.

They needed a vacation. In the past 4 years they had done nothing but mope; they would mope in their respective homes, they would get together and mope and plan, but mostly mope. The sun, white sand under their feet and the sea- they deserved it, really.

"Oh, but how are we going to reserve a place? They must have a waiting list for at least a few years ahead," the angel fretted suddenly, as his dream stumbled upon a wall.

"Leave everything to me." Crowley smiled easily, relaxing back into the couch. Aziraphale's eyebrows narrowed.

"You are going to make a reservation, aren't you, dear boy?" the angel asked sweetly, in a voice that didn't leave room for argument. The demon knew that, because he groaned, head rolling back in exasperation.

"Just for you, angel."

And that was that, apparently. In five days Crowley was on his door step, three suitcases next to him as if they were going to stay for a month. Generous as always, the demon offered to transport them with the snap of his fingers but Aziraphale was having none of that. This was their first vacation and most probably their last, he wanted to experience it all.

"This was your demonic doing, was it not?" the angel hissed, hours later. The seat he was stuffed in was barely made for a child, let alone a grown adult, and he couldn't help squirming. Moving, he realized, just made it worse. Aziraphale's thigh brushed against the demon's and it only served in making him even more annoyed.

Crowley, for his part, didn't say anything, but at least he had the decency to look guilty.

"You could have bought the first class tickets," finally, the demon argued, but it sounded weak.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know I had to pay for basic comfort." Aziraphale turned to glare at his friend, his thigh dragging against the demon's leg again and he had to cling to the annoyance.

The alternative would have been far worse.

"Next thing, you will tell me I have to pay for water." The heat behind his words was almost gone now, replaced by a different one that he desperately tried to stifle back deep inside himself.

Somehow, the other managed to look even more ashamed and the angel couldn't help but snort.

Honestly, any demon that thought Crowley was wasting his time on Earth had to be forced to fly at least once on a commercial airplane. If Aziraphale hadn't been an unwitting victim of it too, he would have been almost impressed.

Crowley spent the whole flight asleep. The bastard.

An eternity, or more accurately 3 hours later, they found themselves in Spain. Aziraphale had brought along a map and was trying to figure out how best to reach Minorca, the little island that was apparently their destination when the demon grabbed his hand.

"I do have my limits, angel," Crowley grunted, annoyed, and before Aziraphale could even question him, or register that _they were holding hands_ , they were leaving the busy airport behind.

The angel blinked and found himself on a white beach, facing a nice little hut. He turned to the other, not knowing whether to be mad that they hadn't arrived here via the human method or happy, because this, this was just wonderful. His eyes fell on the keys dangling from the demon's hands and the decision was made for him.

"Relax," Crowley drawled, before the angel could even open his mouth. "I did pay for it, far more than its worth, believe me. I just," at this he waved a hand vaguely, keys jiggling, "checked us in manually."

Aziraphale chose to say nothing.

Their hut had two beds. It was a nice place, certainly more an apartment than a hut. It even had its own living room and a small kitchenette.

It had two beds.

Aziraphale didn't know why that hurt. He didn't even know what he had expected. Of course it would have two beds. They couldn't possibly share one, could they?

It's not like they were a couple.

He stared at the two beds, unseeing.

"Right," Crowley said, after a while. "I'll go see if I can find them."

The demon turned to the door, but Aziraphale stopped him, a new worry gnawing at his mind.

"Wait- Do you... Do you want me to change?" His voice was small, he felt even smaller. He hadn't considered this, but he had seen the people outside, moving about. There was no way anyone would believe someone who looked like Crowley would ever be seen with someone who looked like _him_.

At his words, Crowley froze. Aziraphale could feel his eyes on him, probably taking in all the extra fluff in places where fluff should not be. The demon was probably regretting bringing him along.

It was fine. Aziraphale could leave at any point.

"Well, yeah," Crowley said finally and the angel felt every drawled syllable stab at his heart. "We are at the beach, you could probably lose the coat?"

Aziraphale blinked. "No, I mean. Change?" He gestured towards his middle. The demon's eyes narrowed behind the sunglasses. There might have even been a little growl, certainly a product of the angel's imagination.

"I really don't know what you mean. Meet you at the bar?" And with that he was gone, before Aziraphale could even ask where the bar was.

The angel stared at himself, he really didn't want to change the form he had gotten so used to over the millennia. Crowley had said he wouldn't mind. With a sigh, he shed off his coat. The waistcoat and the bow tie followed soon after, and he rolled his sleeves at the elbows. One last glance, it would have to do, and he was leaving.

It turned out Aziraphale wouldn't have needed to ask where the bar was as it was right on the beach, a few hundred meters from their little place. The bartender, a nice young man, smiled at him as he approached and greeted him with, "What can I get you, love?"

He ordered a cocktail just because it sounded like it would be something one had on their vacation, with their toes in the sand and the sea gently rumbling behind them. While the boy was making his drink, moving the shaker with slightly more vigor than was needed, Aziraphale focused his attention on him. He _was_ a nice boy. Twenty three years old, he was saving money for university, he wanted to be a photographer. In fact, he had snapped some pictures of this very beach just this morning and they were beautiful. The angel dug a little bit deeper and flinched, just slightly.

Aziraphale held out a hand to pass him his tip and when their fingers touched, he let his Grace push forward, felt the worry unfurl in the human's mind, his muscles relaxing. The bartender beamed at him and he answered it, just as radiantly.

He had always thought this was what an angel was supposed to do- heal people. Even if it was just one person at a time.

" _What_ in Hell are you doing?" a distinctively Crowley-sounding voice, but much darker than he was used to hearing, asked from behind him. He turned around to smile at his friend, but the demon was not looking at him, instead glaring at the space where Aziraphale's fingers were still touching the human.

The angel dropped his hand and the bartender scurried away. He wouldn't remember any of this happening, nor would he feel the same heaviness in his chest as before.

"His mother is terribly sick," he offered as an explanation, when Crowley continued staring, a scowl etched into his features. "I made sure that she will make it."

The demon dragged a hand over his face with the longest and most pained sigh Aziraphale had ever heard. To say the angel was confused would be an understatement. He had to wonder if he had done something wrong. He hadn't thought about it, but every time he used his Grace around him, Crowley would always be uncharacteristically angry. Perhaps it hurt the demon, the holiness of it all, and he wouldn't say anything because he knew how much Aziraphale enjoyed helping people. They would need to discuss this, but not now. Not when they were on vacation.

Crowley finally looked at him, blinked slowly and glared again. "And _where_ are you clothes?" the demon demanded coldly, making Aziraphale look down at himself, half expecting to be stark naked.

"I am wearing clothes. Weren't you the one who told me I had to lose the coat?" In fact, the angel felt especially overdressed, considering the people in swim suits passing them by. He had to bite his tongue to contain the snark remark that even Crowley, himself, had switched his normal clothes for black shorts and a shirt that should not have been clinging this tightly to him.

But Aziraphale was not supposed to be ogling his friend so he didn't comment on it. At his words Crowley's frown deepened and the angel silently vowed to make sure their vacation was more enjoyable than it was panning out to be.

"Fine, whatever," the demon waved a hand around and took a step towards the other. Aziraphale would have taken one backwards, was he not currently sitting on a chair. "They will be here any moment. We need an in and we need a backstory."

"Right, a backstory." The angel nodded and then grimaced, when something occurred to him. "Wouldn't he recognise you?"

"He hasn't seen me _._ Do you think American diplomats talk to someone who looks like this?" To accentuate his point, Crowley gestured towards his body and, Heaven forgive him, Aziraphale followed his hand with his gaze. And wished he hadn't. There was too much skin he could see, the little hairs on the other's thighs that used to tickle him so, the freckles he had spent countless nights counting with his kisses.

Someone splashed him with water and he could not even be angry because he had felt on fire. He turned to look at the perpetrator, probably thank them even, and his heart stopped in his chest.

The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan and Lord of Darkness. His secret Godson. Was before him. Holding a water gun and giggling maniacally.

Aziraphale dared not even blink, his breath trapped in his lungs. A petite woman appeared out of nowhere and wrestled the toy from the hands of the Antichrist, apologising profusely. A man was trailing behind them, and the angel recognised him from a picture Crowley had been waving around one night while he was complaining about how utterly and unapologetically boring the human was.

"Don't worry about it, my dear." He forced a smile on his face, because really what else could he do. "Our James was the same when he was a child."

He could feel Crowley's eyes on him like lasers and he shrugged, a twitch of the shoulder. It was as good a backstory as any. The woman smiled, unfazed, and offered to treat them to lunch for their troubles.

It seemed they had their in.

He let Crowley talk to the diplomat as he was not particularly versed in politics and, besides, the demon was experienced with listening to Thaddeus without nodding off. The glare his friend shot him told him he would probably pay for this later. In turn, Aziraphale focused all of his attention on the woman, Harriet. The Dowlings were a nice couple and the angel could almost forget they were raising the Antichrist. If said Antichrist was not currently running around their table, terrorizing everyone in the restaurant.

"Forgive me if I sound too forthright," Aziraphale extended his Grace slightly, making sure nothing like that passed through their minds, "but our James was a right terror as well before we hired a nanny."

He might have gone without the miracle, he realized, judging by the way Harriet's eyes lit up as she turned to her husband, "That's what _I_ have been saying, haven't I, Ted?"

"He is just a boy, that's what boys do," the diplomat waved her off but the seed had been planted.

"If you don't mind terribly," Aziraphale smiled. Of course they wouldn't mind when he smiled at them like that, "I can give you the number of our nanny?"

Harriet nodded quickly and he turned to the demon. "Darling, if you could?"

The endearment tasted delicious on his tongue, like sweet wine. Crowley looked at him, a little dazed, the poor thing was probably falling asleep from Thaddeus' lecture, but he was still quick to produce a pen and paper from his pockets and scribble a number Aziraphale suspected was his own. He handed it to the smiling woman.

The angel should have been happy, they had needed but a few hours to secure a place for at least one of them in the Dowling's residence. They were very good at their job. Now, it seemed there was nothing keeping them here and they could go back to their ordinary lives.

Their ordinary dull lives, filled with fretting over the Apocalypse.

"Did you just insinuate we have a child together?" Crowley hissed in his ear when the family took their leave. His breath was hot on Aziraphale's neck, not that the angel noticed.

"I think I did more than insinuate." He tried to keep his voice level. It hadn't been the best decision, but it had just... felt right, at that moment. Not that he could share that particular piece of information with the other. "It's a backstory. It's not as if we had time to decide on one."

When he continued to feel Crowley's eyes on him, Aziraphale shifted slightly. "I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, his fingers flying to fiddle with his waistcoat but, at its absence, just bunching his shirt in his fist. The demon had probably wanted to enjoy his vacation, with other people who were not Aziraphale. And now he couldn't, because the angel had married them off without his permission.

He wanted to cry, only partly due to the image of Crowley enjoying _their_ vacation with someone else.

"It's fine," the demon said softly, too softly. Of course he would say that, now, that Aziraphale hadn't left him any choice.

The angel could just leave. It would probably be the best for them both. And yet...

"Why don't we go back to the hut and I'll miracle us some wine to celebrate a job well done?"

Aziraphale knew he should leave, they had finished what they had come here to do. At the very least, he should have said something about Crowley stealing wine from some poor human. What he did, instead, was follow his friend happily.

* * *

 

The next morning the angel woke up alone. He had never particularly enjoyed sleeping, especially after that one incident, but there had been something so terribly alluring about falling asleep to the sound of waves and Crowley's gentle breathing that he hadn't been able to resist.

There was tea on his nightstand, in a plastic cup, It was still hot and he suspected that if he left it for a few hours it would still be the exact same, perfect temperature. The angel grabbed it and after a moment of second thoughts changed his clothes, before wandering outside.

He found Crowley just where he thought he would, stretched on a lounge chair by the beach, head thrown back as he soaked up the sun. Like a giant snake. Aziraphale couldn't stop the affectionate smile blooming on his face, nor could he stop his eyes from roaming over the other's exposed body. As if from somewhere far away, he noted the demon had downgraded his short pants to even shorter ones, one that left nothing to the imagination, and that there was a silk robe hanging limply from his shoulders. What he didn't let himself notice, however, was how delicate Crowley's skin looked under the garment, his outstretched neck, the white thighs, the taste of which the angel still remembered. How beautiful and relaxed his friend looked.

"I remember you saying we had something important to do while we were here," Aziraphale teased. He was glad when his voice didn't come out as wrecked as he felt.

"Everything important has been done. It's time for the plea-" Crowley stopped mid-sentence, his smirk freezing on his face. He lifted his glasses to stare at the angel. "Why are you wearing this?"

Aziraphale looked down at himself and then gave a pointed look at what Crowley was wearing. Yes, he had exchanged his pants for shorts, far longer than the ones the demon was wearing, mind, and he had a plain white t-shirt. It was something he would not be caught dead in, otherwise, but somehow that made him feel better.

As if he was a different Aziraphale, with a different Crowley that could lounge all day on the beach, sipping cocktails and not worrying about the end of the world.

Under the demon's burning stare, his reason seemed rather silly.

"Well, I couldn't very well walk around in my suit all day. People were staring. _You_ were staring."

"Oh, I know about the _people_ ," Crowley hissed through clenched teeth and the angel felt like he should apologise. He just wasn't sure what about.

Once again, Aziraphale glanced down, taking note of the roundness of his belly, the softness of his hips. A hand snaked around his middle and it took the angel too long to realize it was his own.

"I did ask if you wanted me to change anything." Aziraphale had meant for it to come out teasing, admonishing. It just sounded weak.

"This has nothing to do with it." Crowley rubbed a hand over his face, murmuring something that suspiciously sounded like, "Sssatan help me", hiss and all, but otherwise made no attempt to talk to the angel or even look at him.

Afraid his suddenly shaking legs might betray him, Aziraphale lowered himself on the nearby chair. He hadn't been awake even an hour and he had already managed to sour the demon's mood. So far so good with making sure Crowley was enjoying the vacation.

"So you think they would contact us?" he asked when the silence became unbearable.

Crowley snorted, in a way that meant he was still very much unhappy but would engage the angel just out of politeness.

"Of course they will. You played the happy husband marvelously while I had to listen about the rising rate of unemployment and the war on drugs and whatever else boring people like Thaddeus," he spit the name out like it burnt," like to talk about. They will take your angelic advice and call us and then one of us will go."

"I'll be happy to." Aziraphale nodded sagely.

"Who says you are going?" Crowley's voice was neutral but only because he was very carefully keeping it this way, the angel knew.

"Well, I just supposed. I don't think it would be wise for you to be a nanny to Warlock. Can you even cook?"

"Can you?" Crowley raised an eyebrow, making the other sputter. Aziraphale tried desperately to come up with an excuse that was not the fact his friend was a demon. It would be unfair, bringing it up, considering Crowley had never actually acted like a typical demon.

Not to mention the fact he did not want to risk hurting Crowley's feelings or having him storm off.

"I just cannot imagine you taking care of someone," Aziraphale finally said and even before it left his mouth, he knew it was a lie.

Crowley, apparently, did too. "I take care of you, don't I?"

It was pathetic how a simple sentence made a thousand butterflies flap their wings inside Aziraphale's stomach. He opened his mouth to argue, but found he didn't really want to.

He stared at the sea, instead. It was a little silly he knew, but he had never particularly liked it, ever since Noah. He glared at the azure waves, not seeing them, but countless bodies, like tiny ants, struggling. That's what humans were to angels, what they should have been to Aziraphale.

"Not the kids. You can't kill kids."

He could almost hear the words again, the way they had made him feel. A demon, caring more about humans than his own brethren. Something warm had been born that day, inside a heart he still hadn't been using back then. It had made him so afraid he had actively avoided seeing Crowley for a few centuries.

How easy it had been before, to spend time without the demon by his side. Now, he wouldn't even be able to survive a week.

"You know, I never learnt how to swim." Aziraphale's words were light, an invitation, not unlike the one his friend had made so many millennia ago in a tavern in Rome.

Crowley gave a little snort of laughter, almost as if he hadn't planned on it, but it had struggled out either way. Just like that the tension bled out from between them, like air from a popped balloon. The demon got up, shedding his robe as if a second skin, and nodded towards the blue expanse before them.

"Come on, then." Then, after a second too long silence, he added, "And lose the shirt."

With that he was gone, a great stretch of skin slithering towards the sea and Aziraphale looked down just so he could stop staring.

Crowley never did teach him how to swim, or even tried to, far too busy tackling the angel in the water, pushing him against the high waves, all the while giggling like a mad man. Aziraphale tried very hard not to think of how warm his friend's hands were around him, how carefree he sounded. It all felt so new, thrilling, and yet here, in a little paradise, he could almost pretend they have always felt like this. That his touch as he lifted the demon and then tossed him in the water in a flurry of limbs was welcomed, even desired.

At some point the Dowlings waved at them from the beach. Aziraphale didn't need to wonder what they saw, because he knew- a nice, loving couple, playfully teasing each other in the water.

A few hours later, the angel felt exhausted, but content in a way he had never been before. The sun was licking at his face as he lounged on the beach, reading a book that would miraculously never come close to even a speck of sand or a drop of water. Crowley was stretched next to him, skin still glistening, an offering to the gods.

There was only one thing missing.

"I can go for a drink just about now. What about you, dear?" Aziraphale whispered, careful not to disturb the demon lest he was asleep. He shouldn't have worried, the moment the words left his mouth Crowley's eyes were snapping open and he was climbing on his feet.

"I'll go. What do you want, angel?"

Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat up, it was rather warm today, wasn't it?

"That's perfect then," the angel exclaimed, lowering his book and following the other. "You know, if we stay here long enough we might be able to try all the cocktails they offer."

"Of course you would love that," Crowley snorted, but there was something soft in his features. Something that made Aziraphale walk a bit closer to him than he should have, his hand- a whisper, next to the demon's. Neither of them remarked on it.

The bartender, the same one from yesterday, beamed at Aziraphale when they approached the bar. The boy wouldn't remember him, it would be impossible to explain if they did, but he looked so much happier and more relaxed than before. The angel smiled.

This time, he was not so certain he had misheard the low growl from behind him.

"Can I get two Long Island Iced Teas for me and my husband please? Thank you." The feeling of a job well done always left him feeling exhilarated. He turned to the demon to note that, really, those cocktails were _made_ for sipping on the beach when he found the other staring at him, his mouth hanging wide open.

It took Aziraphale a second to realize his mistake and he felt dizzy. He struggled to find an excuse, anything that was not the fact that for a moment he had forgotten there was nothing between them, that this illusion born in a place as if outside reality was simply that- a dream.

"We must keep appearances, dear," he said with more confidence than he felt. "And I don't think I look like the type to have a child with anyone but a husband."

Crowley, thankfully, didn't point out that the angel had done far worse with someone who was not even his partner. He didn't need to, his raised eyebrows did that well enough. But it wasn't mocking or in disgust, not the same way the angel would have reminded himself. It was teasing and it made Aziraphale's heart beat just a little faster as he smiled.

* * *

  
They were walking down the beach, having just had the most marvelous of meals. The sun was setting, the sand beneath their feet was warm, the sea- calm, a rumbling afterthought. It was the perfect end to an otherwise perfect day and Crowley's hand was so close and the angel had been aching to take a hold of it for hours now.

So he did.

This Aziraphale could lace his fingers with his Crowley's and it might hurt when he had to leave those versions behind. But for now it was perfect.

"Are you doing this on purpose?" The demon turned to look at him, the sun shining brightly behind him, giving him a red halo. Drunk on the sight, Aziraphale giggled and just gave a gentle squeeze.

They had been nothing but playful and relaxed around each other, the angel had no reason to believe his friend was annoyed with him. And yet... Crowley ripped his hand away from the other's gentle grip and growled.

"I'm being serious, Aziraphale. Why are you doing this? Is this some weird _punishment_ for something I did?"

There was fire in the demon's eyes, his sunglasses thrown away hours before, and for once Aziraphale just felt cold under his stare.

"I really- I don't understand," the angel stammered, taking a step back. It had all been going so lovely, they had been laughing and touching and Crowley had been the happiest he had seen him in years now.

Aziraphale felt tears prickle at his eyes. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Of course the other hadn't been having fun, he had just been humouring him, like he always did.

Crowley's shoulders sagged, all fight in him gone suddenly. He sighed, a breath as if coming from within his very soul.

"Of course you don't." And it didn't sound like an accusation, but remorse and dread. The demon took a step forward and Aziraphale had to fight against his every urge not to escape Crowley's reaching hands. "Of course you don't. I'm sorry, okay? I've been under a lot of stress and I thought you were... I shouldn't have yelled at you."

When the angel just stared at him, frozen in shock, desperately not thinking of the warm palms on his shoulders, Crowley actually pleaded, "Come on, let's do something nice, hm?"

Aziraphale finally managed to find his voice, even if it came out slightly high and pitched, "We can just stay here? Watch the stars perhaps?"

"Anything. Anything you want, angel."  
  
That wasn't true, certainly not anything he wanted, but he didn't argue. Instead, he settled on the black beach towel Crowley had snapped into existence and tried not to lean into the body that was sitting too close to him. Together, they watched the sun set and the stars blink into the night.

The silence around them cradled Aziraphale, comfortable and nice. The feeling reminding him of sinking into the demon's arms, of the rare nights when he had allowed himself to hold Crowley just a little bit longer than necessary, a little bit closer.

Aziraphale loved him, had loved him for five millennia.

He couldn't tell him, however, not again. He couldn't risk the demon mocking him, insinuating he would gladly take something else rather than his love, _again_.

No. But _this_ Aziraphale could. And maybe _this_ Crowley would laugh, warm and happy, and swoop down to kiss him.

The angel extended his Grace, poking just slightly at the other's aura and there was a change, the tiniest little thing, and it was enough.

"Crowley, I-"

"Over there," the demon talked over him, extending a slender finger to a particular cluster in the sea of stars. "That's Alpha Centauri. I helped build some of the stars there, you know." Crowley turned to him and there was that unreadable look on his face, the one that Aziraphale no matter how hard he tried could never decipher. It was sad and yet... not, in a way. "When the Apocalypse is over, I'll show you exactly which ones."

The Apocalypse. Aziraphale had forgotten about it, truth be told, hadn't cared enough to remind himself.

Crowley's words splashed over him like a bucket of ice water, bringing back all the feelings he had locked inside himself. The fear, the pain, the fact he could not risk the fate of the world just for a chance of selfish happiness.

"It's a promise," Aziraphale nodded. Crowley's hand snaked around his own and the angel intertwined their fingers. He could allow himself to stay in this fantasy for just a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shocked how long this turned out to be. Honestly, I was like, who in their right mind would read 6K words about two idiots going on a vacation but then again, who am I to judge, being the one who is writing it. And actively enjoying it!!! 
> 
> Also, finally, a chapter not set in England ffs!


	12. 4004 BC- 2019

_4004 BC- 2019_  
  
The first time Crowley ever wanted to name the feeling in his chest, he was being shielded by a white wing.  
  
He remembered spending countless hours, days, maybe even years, back before time, as a concept, hadn't been invented yet, perched on the Apple Tree. It was the tallest one in the Garden, giving perfect view of the most gorgeous angel he had ever laid eyes on. Tempting Eve with the fruit, that was just to keep himself occupied when the angel went back to Heaven on whatever angelic business he had and Crowley missed him.  
  
He missed him, before he had even met him, and the demon should have realized then and there that he would be doomed. He did, in the way one knew they should not indulge in the second piece of a decadent cake, but did it anyway. Except the angel looked far more irresistible than anything the humans could make, any metaphor they could think of.  
  
The demon couldn't help it. He could have told himself it was a temptation, wanting to ruin a pure and innocent angel. It would have surely won him some favour in Hell. But it wasn't the angel that was being tempted.  
  
Still, Crowley spent every minute of every day staring at him, the way he would sit on the wall, feet dangling as he watched over the humans. As if he wasn't there to protect the Eastern Gate, as if the most important thing for him was inside the Garden, instead.  
  
Often, the angel would even come down to socialize with Adam and Eve, like they were his equals. Almost like he couldn't set their hearts aflame from inside their bodies, with a look, like he was doing to Crowley himself. He would ask them how their day was, how they felt. His name was _Aziraphale_ , he had heard him whisper it once. It felt nice on the demon's tongue, right.    
  
Sometimes, the angel would walk around the Garden, too, talking to the colourful plants and the animals, even the smallest of bugs. Not Crowley, though. Never Crowley. The demon wanted, dreamed with a heart that was not supposed to dream anymore. Just one sweet "Hello", one gentle touch, like he had seen the angel give as if it was nothing, as if Crowley would not Fall again just for it. But he was not stupid. The angel was kind to everyone he met but Crowley was _a demon_. He knew what happened to demons who crossed paths with ethereal beings. He _remembered_ what happened, would remember every time he looked towards the Western Gate and the significantly less radiant angel with her back to them. The lesson would stay with him long after his scales had healed.  
  
So Crowley resigned himself to lurking in the shadows Aziraphale cast, listening to his sweet voice coo at the random insects crawling around and imagining it's him the angel was talking to. He was getting quite good at it, too. He had found himself his own piece of Heaven and he desperately constricted around it. Of course, just when he had learnt to quiet his hunger with the scraps of the angel's presence, God took that away from him, as She always did. She cast out the humans from the Garden and the demon realized it was over, the other would follow them out. Crowley had spent enough time watching him to be aware of that simple fact, he _knew_ Aziraphale, even before he knew him.  
  
With sudden clarity, Crowley realized it didn't matter if the angel would smite him or not. It was his last chance to speak to the being that had so much of Heaven in him. The choice had been made for him, really.  
  
The thing about Falling was that it was painful. All of the Good in Crowley's body had bled out, replaced by hatred and anger, violently pushed inside a soul, not made to feel any such emotion. For so long, the demon had felt like he was not right, like he was not a being but a patchwork of paradoxes that surrounded the void his Grace had left behind. The Almighty had left a hole in his very essence when She cast him from Heaven. And as Crowley stood there, under the first rain, guarded by a white wing and gazing at impossibly blue eyes, he realized.  
  
It was an amazingly Aziraphale-shaped hole.  
  
Crowley might have been new at being a demon but it didn't take him long to see a being such as himself was not supposed to love an angel. He tried to fight it and, really, it should have been easy. Aziraphale was an awful angel- gluttonous, too kind, simply terrible at following orders. He was perfect.  
  
The demon was desperate. He thought he almost had it during the Great Flood, the angel looking impassively as God drowned everyone, even excusing the Almighty's thirst for vengeance. Crowley actually felt the warm coils inside his chest loosening and he could breathe again, as if for the first time in his existence. His breath was shallow, for once tasting air and not the angel's sweet scent and it lasted a moment, before his throat closed, maybe forever.  
  
For all his talk about the Ineffable Plan, Aziraphale still saved all the children.  
  
It could have been an incident, one-time slip. Except, the angel did the same in Sodom and Gomorrah.  
  
"It wasn't their fault," he would say later, wine-drunk and pliable, and he would shrug as if it was nothing. As if he had not gone against the Almighty's direct orders. As if he hadn't risked Falling for some mere humans.  
  
As if his words did not make Crowley want to drag the angel across the table and drink at his mouth like a man dying in the desert.  
  
After that it just kept getting worse. Aziraphale would not stop putting humans above everything, above _himself_ and Crowley was damned. Had been unsalvageable since he first laid eyes on the other, he reckoned. The Library of Alexandria, when the books were burning and the angel would not care. He would step over a thousand of them, their knowledge and wisdom gone, to save one tiny human. All wars ever fought, Aziraphale would be there, like a shadow, Death's faithful companion.  
  
Crowley hated it. Of course, the angel would do this, with no care for his safety, nor any desire for recognition. And, of course, the demon would have to follow, because his Aziraphale was stupid and careless and Crowley could not bear to see even a curl on his head misplaced.  
  
Of course, it would only make the demon love him more.  
  
The closest he ever got to saying those three words, surprisingly, was when Aziraphale was disguised as Brother Francis. The angel looked ridiculous, like a mole rat but hairy. Crowley loved him, a love that had withstood time and pain and the knowledge it would never be returned, it could never be swayed, especially not by something as stupid as how Aziraphale looked. Still, the angel was not visually appealing. It apparently had something to do with teaching Warlock that "beauty came from within" or some other Hallmark-esque bullshit Aziraphale had dreamed of one day.  
  
Crowley, for his part, didn't mind. There were certain advantages to the angel not being attractive. All of which just about vanished before his very eyes as Marco, a burly fellow who just happened to be the Dowlings' personal _chef_ , waved cheerily at Aziraphale, his smile practically glowing.  
  
There was one thing one had to understand when one was in love with an ethereal being so full of kindness and love such as the angel. People were drawn to him. They liked him. It's not like they could help it, there was something in the angel that was warm and inviting, that made you think of your happiest memory and then put it to shame. It was especially bad if Aziraphale had used his Grace to help someone- the human turned into a love-sick fool and Crowley just wanted to gut them and feed their organs to the ducks. In all fairness, he was a demon, that's what demons generally did.  
  
But in six thousand years, Crowley had found the best way to deal with _people_ \- a touch here, a whisper there, a menacing glare if all failed, and the person would be gone and Aziraphale would be none the wiser. There had only ever been one man who defied this, someone who took each growl as a challenge to get even closer to his angel, who would just not stop _touching_ him. It was just his luck that it was the only human in whom Aziraphale had ever shown interest and that thought kept him up all night sometimes, the images of the two of them, happy and exhausted, tightly wrapped around one another... it was worse than anything Hell could ever do to him.  
  
The point was he was, as much as it was reasonable to expect from a demon, okay with people taking interest in his friend. Except that time. It might have been the fact that Marco was everything Crowley wasn't, down to his sparkling blue eyes and the brilliant smile he wasn't afraid to shine around like a bloody smile-slut. It might have even been the fact that Aziraphale could not stop gushing about him and his skills, and, oh, that very nice creme brulee he had made the angel just _because_. And there Crowley was, who couldn't even boil an egg without having to buy a new set of pots. But that was besides the point. It certainly didn't lead to the demon's angry and quite drunk decision to sign up for a cooking course, to which he still, surprisingly, went for a number of years.  
  
It might have even been the fact that Crowley wasn't able to dissuade the human the only way he knew how to. He couldn't quite lay his claim on the angel when they were not even supposed to know each other. He was, at the time, a respectable lady, that certainly did not go around draping herself all over random men just because other men had stared at her unrequited-love-for-over-six-millennia/ best friend.  
  
Something arose in him then, dark and ancient, the mangled piece of his soul that contained all the gifts from his Fall. The snake in him, but not the one that slithered around all day, stalking an innocent angel.  
  
The demon had awaken and it hissed hungrily.  
  
Aziraphale gave the human a smile, a sunbeam on a lazy afternoon, and turned to Crowley. The demon also received a smile. It probably looked the same for anyone who might be watching.  
  
It wasn't.  
  
It was a smile, centuries in the making. One that Crowley knew every dip and curve of, but that never failed to make him feel like he was seeing it for the first time. The beast purred in his chest, slumbering into a timeless sleep. Just like that, it was over. Except that it wasn't, not really. In one tiny moment, Crowley realized that the angel would always be next to him, smiling at him just like this, taking care of him when he needed him, scolding him when he certainly did not. A beautiful constant.    
  
"I-"  
  
They would have eternity before them, if they only managed to avert the Apocalypse. Which would not happen if Crowley opened his big, stupid mouth and said something that chased the angel away. It would be all over, the Earth would be gone, but sod that, _Aziraphale_ would be gone. And there was nothing that was worth that sort of risk.  
  
But it was so much harder to contain those three little words now. Six millennia and they felt like they would spill, sloshing in his mouth like wine.  
  
He wanted to say it on the bus.  
  
"If he comes into his full power, how- how do we stop him then?"  
  
"I'm sure it won't come to that." _I'll do anything to protect you. I love you._  
  
He almost growled it out in the middle of the Tadfield Manor.  
  
_"Love is a four letter word."_  
  
It took effort to stop himself from yelling it in the bandstand.  
  
"I don't even like you!"  
  
_"I love you."_  
  
_Stop it, stop it, stop it._  
  
He wanted to beg it on the street.  
  
"I forgive you."  
  
_"I love you."_  
  
Three little words echoing through time, as old as the Earth itself.  
  
The last time Crowley would ever consider confessing his feelings, he was speeding through London, his phone dialing the angel's bookshop. He didn't care anymore, had never really cared about _himself_ , but he had tried to keep Aziraphale out of trouble.  
  
Stupid, idiot, moron Aziraphale, who always found himself in the middle of the largest mess, desperately trying to fix everything. Crowley was gone on him, hadn't even stood a chance, really.  
  
A million thoughts swirled in his brain, a hurricane eating away at anything less important than loving the angel, like breathing, or keeping his heart pumping. He wanted to say, "I love you." He needed to say, "There _is_ our side, there always has been. And I wasn't on it. I'll do anything for you, angel."  
  
_Anything_.  
  
But as he pulled up to a burning shop, he realized. He might have been too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, can you feel the end!?! Are you excited?! Boy, am I!
> 
> In all seriousness, you cannot deny the fact Crowley probably spent a good part of his days in the Garden stalking Aziraphale. Why else would he know about the sword? Nope, our demon boy invented pining and nobody can change my mind.


	13. Saturday

_Saturday_  
  
There was something that was supposed to be weighing on Aziraphale's mind. Trouble was, the memory of what exactly had escaped him somewhere along the second bottle of wine. He knew there was something that was going to happen tomorrow, something inevitable that he was supposed to be dreading. He could have guessed it would be the end of the world, but no, they had already passed that.  
  
The angel sighed and leaned into the fingers, gently running through his hair. Another hand was on his chest, softly rising each time he took a breath and he could feel the heat from it, warming something so deep inside him.    
  
Aziraphale was draped, or rather had been draped, over the demon's lap. He had been gently laid down, the other's thigh- a warm cushion, when the alcohol had made him feel pleasantly weightless. The angel had been too exhausted at this point to pretend he hadn't been dreaming of being in this position for at least a few centuries.  
  
Instinctively, he moved closer to the firm stomach so deliciously close, burrowing his nose in black clothes and breathing in. Aziraphale had forgotten how nice it felt to be in the demon's lap, under his deft fingers' mercy. He had tried to remember, every so often when the darkness was just a little too thick, but each time the memory ran through his mind it seemed just a little fuzzier around the edges, a little more like a dream, like it had never happened at all.  
  
There was a gasp from above him, muscles tensing where the angel was almost pressing his lips. Aziraphale was too gone to care. He could have excused himself with the fact he was drunk, but that was not it. In fact, he had sobered up considerately, the moment soft hands had wrapped around his shoulders and pushed him down.  
  
It was just... they were probably going to die tomorrow, their ruse could be figured out and then Heaven and Hell would end them, once and for all. He could lose Crowley, this time forever.  
  
_Oh._  
  
That was it, then. What he had been avoiding thinking about all night. His eyes snapped up, groggy and yet piercing, searching, wanting to remember features he might never see again. Crowley was looking at him, unblinking, and there was so much softness in his gaze. Softness he was probably too tired to hide. It made the angel's heart sing, a celestial harmony but so much warmer and lovelier.  
  
Aziraphale outstretched a hand, cradling the demon's cheek in his palm and the other leaned into the touch, lashes fluttering but never closing. Almost as if he was afraid if he closed his eyes, the angel would blink out of existence. As if what was in his grasp was the center of his galaxy, a black hole pulling him close, stealing his breath, his heart.  
  
"You know, I do love you so dearly, my boy," he thought, hypnotised by the golden eyes, mesmerised.  
  
Aziraphale smiled, soft but suddenly filled with so much sadness. He was about to die tomorrow but at least he had gotten to see Crowley look at him in a way the angel had only dreamed of. And this, whatever it was, whatever desperation it was born from, was a forest next to the flowers from his imagination. Aziraphale considered it a fair trade off- his life for this feeling.  
  
It took him longer than he was willing to admit to realise he had said the words out loud.  
  
Demons, as a rule, never prayed. No one was listening and besides, it was humiliating, seeking the help of someone who would never forgive, never love them again.  
  
Demons never apologised as well. Nor did they love. Crowley had long ago come to terms with the fact he would defy any written or unwritten rule about being a demon, if it only meant his angel would be safe. So when he had entered the burning bookshop, there had been only one thought running through his mind.  
  
_'Please, God, let him be okay.'_  
  
He didn't know if the Almighty had heard him, or if it was blind luck, not that he had ever had any, but here Aziraphale was, warm and alive in his lap. The demon could feel him breathe, could see the way his eyes fluttered. And Crowley thought that he must have done something right in all of his existence to deserve this.  
  
They had faced the end of times but it had hardly mattered to him. In a single day he had lost _his_ world and gotten it back. He couldn't possibly ask for more, he was truly unworthy of more.  
  
And then Aziraphale said he loved him. Aziraphale, who had spent the night getting terribly wasted, fear and nerves wrecking his body, making him squeeze his eyes just so. His angel, his terrified angel, and yet he was trying to comfort Crowley.  
  
There was something stuck inside the demon's throat, a sob, and he tried desperately to stifle it back. His eyes were burning, and so were his fingertips, still pressed around soft curls.  
  
"Love you too, angel," he whispered, finally, voice and gaze a little wobbly.  
  
It wasn't a confession, not really. His tone- light and teasing, the same one he used when saying things like, "The dessert menu, please," and, "One more glass, angel?" and even, "I got us tickets to the opera."  
  
In a way, they all meant the same thing.  
  
But Aziraphale was shaking his head, lips- a thin line. The angel had come so far, and there was nothing else to lose. Once the words had escaped him, it was like they no longer fit inside his body, like he didn't want them to. He squeezed his eyes shut, not bearing to see the rejection in those yellow orbs.  
  
"I meant, I'm desperately and hopelessly in love with you. Have been for an eternity, it seems."  
  
The words filled the space between them, thicker than air, and Crowley felt like he was drowning in them. He considered every possible way the angel might have meant them except the most obvious one and yet he came up empty. But Aziraphale couldn't, perfect, gorgeous, _his_ Aziraphale couldn't.  
  
There was hope blossoming in his chest, nurtured by the angel's gentle warmth and he stomped on it. Not yet. It would hurt so terribly later if he was wrong.  
  
"Aziraphale," his voice came up stern and he almost winced when he saw the way the other bit sharp teeth into his lip. "Aziraphale, please sober up."  
  
The angel's eyes flew open and Crowley realized with a start that they were shining. Not with intoxication, however, but with tears, now running down his cheeks, two streams, no longer contained.

  
"I'm sorry," Aziraphale squeaked, jumping on his feet. They were shaking and so was his body, his very soul even. He had tried _again_ , had been rejected _again_ and there was almost comfort in having gone through this once before. The familiarity of it all, as if he had relieved this exact scenario a thousand times, and he had, was a wool blanket, preventing him from breaking down in front of the demon. Not for long. The angel could feel the dejection creeping in, a tidal wave, swallowing him whole.  
  
"I'm sorry," he insisted again, and he was. He really, truly was. "I know that you don't and that's okay. I just- I just need to leave, now." His voice broke as he crept towards the front door. Crowley was still before him, body leaning forward, frozen as he had been getting off the couch to follow him. He looked dazed but ready to strike, deadly as a viper, and Aziraphale had to get out before he did. Rejection was horrendous, the demon comforting him and trying to make it better- that would be even worse.  
  
"I can meet you at the park tomorrow? Or- or not. You don't have to come. It's perfectly fine, I will understand."  
  
"What do you mean that I don't?" Crowley's voice sounded as if from far away, yet there he was clutching Aziraphale's wrists. The angel tried to pry himself away but he couldn't, the grip too strong. Sometimes he forgot, let himself forget, that the other was a demon.  
  
"Why would I not love you back?" Crowley growled, grip tightening, just for a second, before a wince, the tiniest flinch of eyebrows, forced him to loosen his hold instinctively. "Because I'm a demon?"  
  
It hurt. Crowley had said it to himself so many times, he thought he would be immune to it by now, but somehow it was even worse when coming from the same lips he had dreamed of kissing for millennia. It burnt, and he liked burning, would never mind some self-inflicted pain to remind himself of his place, which was as far away from the angel as he could possibly bear to be. But hearing those words just burnt like holy water, like something he had forbidden himself for far too long coming back to taunt him.  
  
The question startled Aziraphale enough to snap him out of his attempts to wiggle himself free, if only due to the sheer ridiculousness of it. During their long acquaintance, he had considered the other a demon, in the proper sense of the word, for such a short time that in the grand scheme of things it was almost as if it had never crossed his mind. To stand here and be accused of it, when all he wanted was to just curl on the floor and weep, made anger bubble on his tongue.  
  
"No!" The word but a snarl, and Crowley's eyes were widening, fingers tugging on wrists with urgency now. "You know me better than to assume- But I am an _angel_ , Crowley, and I would have been able to sense it if you- And I have been trying, ever since, I've been trying to feel even the tiniest change, anything to show me it was possible."  
  
Crowley tumbled back, face so white it was almost transparent. "That can't be," he shook his head softly. The angel was mistaken, surely. The demon loved him, more than he could ever remember loving anything, even from back when he was an angel, when the ability to love came as easy as flying.  
  
Aziraphale could leave now, there was nothing holding him back. Nothing, except millennia of pain and longing he had suffocated so many times and, now they were choking him back.  
  
"Do you think I wouldn't have tried? Ever since the Garden, you have not, for one second, changed the way you felt for me." His voice had been high, doused with anger, yet his last words were but a whisper. He had never admitted to this, never out loud, never even to himself. The angel didn't know what game Crowley was playing at, making him reveal all of this, as if the demon _didn't know_ , but it hurt. He could feel his heart breaking, a million pieces, and each time it hurt.  
  
Suddenly, Crowley's shoulders sagged and so did his face. There was a wall against his back and he held onto it, as the realization made him feel dizzy. Aziraphale _loved_ him. Aziraphale loved _him_. The most divine creature in all of creation had chosen to bestow upon him even the tiniest of specks of love he had desired for far too long. Reality was shifting around him, dimensions and colour blinking into existence, as if he was suddenly looking through a giant kaleidoscope.  
  
"You are basssing this off the Garden?" he hissed, voice husky and raw. He just needed to convince the angel he shared his feelings and then he would have him. He would touch and kiss him, he would be allowed to.  
  
"Of course I am," the angel answered somewhat indignantly. It was his job to sense other beings' feelings, he was not incompetent. He shifted, nervously, his skin feeling raw and exposed. The conversation was steadily moving into an unknown territory and Aziraphale felt lost, like he was suddenly treading on ice, careful for any cracks, but not too sure how he had gotten there. However, it was enough to distract him from the gaping void inside his chest and for this, he was grateful. "I need a base feeling."  
  
"You never need that with humans," Crowley prodded gently, trying to find where everything had gotten so completely turned around. He could use his words and his touch to assure the angel of his love and yet he yearned to do it right. To _show_ him the extent of his feelings, how deep they ran, how ancient they were.  
  
"You are not human, are you?" Aziraphale huffed. He felt like they were going in circles but there was something strangely soothing about the way Crowley was looking at him, open and honest and the angel relented that they needed that, they needed to talk about it. Even if after they would never see each other again.  
  
"And if I was?" The demon tried to keep the impatience away from his voice, it would not do to go off on the angel when he was so close. And he was, he could feel it, could almost taste the other's soft lips on his already.  
  
Aziraphale crossed his hands in front of his chest. In annoyance, or to protect himself, he wasn't sure yet. What he was sure of was that his heart was thumping in his chest so loudly, Crowley could probably be able to hear it. For a second he entertained the idea the other was torturing him, but he wouldn't, he wouldn't be this _cruel_. There would be a point the demon was trying to make and Aziraphale would humour him, if only because the alternative was leaving and possibly never seeing these yellow eyes again.  
  
"That's preposterous. Humans are different," he scolded. Nobody said it was necessary for him to like participating in the conversation, however.  
  
Sensing this, Crowley tried a new strategy. "So how did I feel all those millennia ago? Back in the Garden?"  
  
There was a flush on Aziraphale's cheek and it took most of the demon's self-control not to push him back and kiss it away. "I- I didn't look. We had only just met, it felt rude to."  
  
Crowley tried to ignore his desire to groan and tug at his own hair, knowing exactly how it may look to the angel. The other was so close to the door, a step back and he would be gone and Crowley couldn't deal with this. Couldn't deal with anything until he had him in his arms, until he was sure it was not a dream.  
  
It felt like a dream, surreal and hazy, but that might have been the breath he had been holding in his chest for a minute now, as he stared at the other.  
  
"So you built a nice little wall around it and just stood guard over it? Never bothered to check?" Crowley focused so hard on not bloody cursing, he forgot his voice was not supposed to come out this way- cutting and cold. His palms pressed to the walls, leaving two scorching handprints behind. Holding himself back with all his will, when all he wanted was to cross those few feet between them, crowd Aziraphale between his arms and never let him leave again.  
  
But Crowley's words did cut, an icicle running through the angel's essence, and he took a step back, reached for the door handle. He couldn't understand why the demon would act like this, accuse him of something like this. Blame him for loving Crowley, asking for something the other would never be able to give, that Aziraphale deserved. He had accepted the burden, the weight of it. But don't blame him for this, whatever this was, whatever Crowley was trying to say.  
  
"We had known each other for all of five minutes. There was nothing there, my de-Crowley," he whimpered, more to himself than to anyone else. There was nothing there and there never had been anything there and just now the reality of the situation started sinking in. The demon was trying to tell him something, guiding him to the question he was supposed to be asking and maybe that was it.  
  
Maybe it was just about showing Aziraphale he didn't love him, never would, without directly saying it. Maybe it was the demon's idea of mercy.  
  
"Try it." Crowley sounded desperate, gaze just a little bit wild. Aziraphale shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, not bearing the sight of the demon before him. Whatever game the other was playing, he didn't like it and with each passing second he felt his body grow weak, as if all of his energy was currently focused on not breaking down in front of his friend.  
  
"Please," Crowley begged and the angel couldn't say no. Not when he sounded like this.  
  
His Grace extended, a dance he had performed a million times, the only one he had been really good at. Just like that first time, 527 years and 3 days after Noah's Ark, the first time he allowed himself to meet Crowley after that feeling in his chest had taken root. And just like the first time, he felt absolutely nothing. There was pain, dense and bleeding, the demon's whole essence vibrating in one continuous torturous scream. It hurt and it made Aziraphale's ears ring, but it was better these days, he reminded himself, the yelp but a whisper of what it had used to be. There was hope too, contained in a small corner, its shine unable to reach anything. Other than that, there was nothing, nothing but the bare expanse and it _hurt_.    
  
Aziraphale felt the wall, the line in the sand he had drawn around what Crowley had felt back in the Garden. It had gone all wiggly from all the times he had stumbled upon it, desperate, hoping for more. He pushed against it, feather-light first and then forcefully, but it was all the same, it stood guard over feelings from so many lifetimes ago, dense as a neutron star. Most probably, because there _was_ nothing there.  
  
The angel would have given up, would have resurfaced with new tears on his face and new pain in his heart but Crowley had begged him. Crowley had thought it was worth it. Squeezing his eyes even more tightly, he imagined not a wall, but a door, and without thinking too hard about it saw himself crossing the threshold.  
  
Aziraphale had been an angel for so long, he had felt every type of love there was on Earth. The Greeks claimed there were 7. Floating here, amidst the light as it washed over him, each wave- a new sensation, the angel begged to differ. There was the rumble of an old love, gentle and constant, a river that had etched its bed thousands of years ago. The uncertainty of new love, more pain than pleasure, but still enduring, still hopeful. The angel had to stifle a gasp when he felt lust, Crowley's need for him, that felt as integrated into his soul as the need to be alive and yet as if quarantined. Lust was lust, Aziraphale argued with himself but he could feel this one was different, in some way. The demon's desire to rip him apart and drink from his body was burning, all consuming, but so was Crowley's need to see him smile, press him close and shield him with his wings. It all tumbled together, innocent and... not, all forbidden, all locked away.  
  
There was so much more, love no mortal could ever experience, love Aziraphale had only ever felt in his own heart. It was enveloping him, singing to him, worshiping him. He must have been digging so deeply, the angel realized, this went beyond Crowley's aura, beyond anything as trifle as feelings. No wonder he had never been able to feel it before. It was the demon's very essence, and it was welcoming Aziraphale as if it was a part of him. And it was, all of this, a part of Crowley's very soul- devoted to loving him.  
  
He wondered if that was how She felt and the sudden thought made him snap back into reality. He found himself kneeling on the floor, his hands shaking as they grasped his short hair, tears streaming down his face. Crowley was next to him and he was rubbing the angel's back, a fevered prayer on his lips.  
  
"Please, angel, please don't cry," the demon was begging, his voice hitching as if he was, too, trying to keep himself from breaking down. "I'll do anything, just please don't cry. I am sorry. I am so terribly sorry. I'll leave, anything, just please."  
  
It didn't help, it only made Aziraphale's sobs more violent, wrecking his whole body and Crowley could feel his heart breaking into pieces, each one pulsing with pain until his whole body was vibrating with it. The demon was a fucking moron, a bloody idiot. He had managed to lose Aziraphale before he even had him.  
  
The angel had told him he loved him and there he was, baring all of his feelings, need and desire no being should ever carry, his stupid, ugly soul. Crowley had scared him away and he wanted to tell him he didn't need Aziraphale to return his feelings, that he would take anything, would be more than happy with anything the angel was willing to part with. But he felt he had lost the right to _want_. So he continued rubbing the other's back, fully aware that this touch might be the only one he would be allowed for the foreseeable future, as he waited for Aziraphale to calm down.  
  
"I'm so sorry, my dear," the angel hiccuped a few minutes later. There was something in the way he said the endearment that made Crowley's hands shake but he dared not hope, not yet. "It seems I have made a rather mess of things."  
  
Aziraphale looked at him, bright-eyed and love-stricken and the force of him almost knocked the demon off balance. It all felt like a worn-out fantasy as the angel reached for him and brought their faces together. There were still tears, shining on ruby cheeks and Crowley kissed them away, gently, almost expecting to be stopped.  
  
"Noah's Ark," Aziraphale whispered in the spaces between their lips and the demon felt the words, the hot breath, more than heard them. He made a noncommittal noise, stealing kisses on already dried skin, not that the other minded. The angel shuddered against him, and it was such a familiar sight and yet Crowley had never felt like he could revel in it and he felt drunk with the newness of it all.  
  
"That's when I- You were _there_ and you _cared_ and I remember thinking, "I love him, I love him, I love him". And it _burnt_ , and it hurt. I had never loved like that and I was scared. It took me a few centuries to understand it but, "Aziraphale met his gaze almost shyly.” That's when I fell in love with you."  
  
Crowley stared at him. The tightness in his throat had returned as the universe refolded itself, the light dimmed. The kaleidoscope fell shattered on the floor. The demon laughed. It wasn't a pretty laughter.  
  
His legs did not shake when he lifted himself on them. There would be time for that, for crying too, he told himself even as the tears were burning.  
  
"Crowley?" The Aziraphale-shaped thing asked, voice wavering and the demon almost took pity on it. Almost.  
  
The thing was Crowley could believe the angel loved him. They had been on the Earth for so long together, the only constant in each other's lives. Aziraphale would feel lonely and the demon would be there, it was a reality, a fever dream really, he was ashamed to admit had crossed his mind so many times.  
  
But for the angel to have loved him for 5 thousand years? No, not even Crowley could make himself believe that and he wanted to, his whole being thumping for him to just say screw it and go with it. He almost had, because whatever the thing was it looked the same, it tasted the same. No one could blame the demon for wanting to indulge, even a little. The torture that was sure to follow, he would be fine with it, will gladly go through it if it meant getting to hold Aziraphale even once in his arms.  
  
Then, he realized that if _he_ was in Hell, surely Heaven had also whisked away his angel. And they might not be as nice with their torture as the demon before Crowley.  
  
"I've got to hand it to you," he started, almost with mirth. "That was a good performance. Got him perfectly. Overdid it on the love part, though." Crowley winked, mostly to keep the tears in his eyes from spilling. "Now, if you don't mind I would like to leave."  
  
"I don't-" Aziraphale stammered, jumping to his feet and positioning himself between the demon and the door. He had almost had it, the other kissing him and holding him and now something had gone terribly wrong. "Cro-"  
  
The demon slammed him into the door, fingers curling around his lapels and lifting him off the floor. His nails were dark and long, resting against Aziraphale's neck, so close to being piercing.  
  
"Lisssten to me," Crowley growled in a voice he had never used around the angel. It was sinister and vile, echoing strangely in the suddenly too cold room. It bypassed Aziraphale's ears and went straight to the little part of his brain that could paralyze with fear. The angel could do nothing but meet the other's flashing eyes, and there were scales under them, something under the skin moving, twisting, before it turned iridescent.  
  
Crowley hoisted him up slightly and the nails were poking him now, just a little bit more pressure and it would hurt. "I don't know who they told you you were torturing, pal, but the only reason you are not a million pieces on the floor right now is because you are wearing the ssskin of someone very dear to me. But if you don't move, right this sssecond, I can just kill you with my eyes closed. Tell me." The demon moved so close their noses were touching, his forked tongue flicking out between too long teeth and lashing against the other's cheek. "Can you?"  
  
Aziraphale tried to remind himself it was still Crowley. Good old, stupid Crowley, who sometimes forgot to sober up and then whined all day, who got extremely cold during winters and the angel had to force him to _at least put something that covered his chest_. Crowley, who apparently thought he was his world.  
  
He kissed him. What else could he do? It was hard and punishing, the demon's claws digging at his hips now, his tongue forcing the angel's lips apart just as his body was forcing the other's thighs open. Aziraphale still melted in the kiss.  
  
When they came apart, the angel knew he only had a few moments to act. It hadn't been enough to convince the other, of course it hadn't, and the demon was pushing him against the door, eyes narrowing once again.       
  
"Feel it," Aziraphale begged, voice still breathless from the desire coursing through his veins. "You were an angel once."  
  
It was enough to catch the demon off guard, and at the words, he dropped the other, jumping out of his reach, fingers instead curling into fists.  
  
"That was a long time ago," the demon parroted their conversation as if an eternity ago, but now there was no fight in him left, now, he just sounded resigned.  
  
"Please?" Aziraphale was looking at him pleadingly and it might not have been the angel but that voice, he could never say no to that voice.  
  
Crowley felt ridiculous, using a Grace he no longer had, to do something he hadn't done in millennia. He wasn't even sure if he was doing it right, but Aziraphale was holding him close, pushing against him with desperation that made the demon ready to do anything just so the other could be happy.  
  
Even if it worked, he realized grimly, it would not be the same. He lacked the same capacity of feeling love as angels, the most he could feel would be a speck of light, a flicker of a firefly, even if the other loved him.  
  
Crowley saw the stars. Back when he had been making them, he had always enjoyed feeling the weight of the atoms in his hands, the gentle warmth they radiated. Each one a different intensity, looking so small in the palms of a being older than the universe but able to sustain so much life. It felt the same, now. Aziraphale's love for him was a galaxy, each star- a supernova, burning with the love he had for the demon. He could feel it, pulsing through him, and he understood why the angel had wept now.  
  
"Aziraphale?" he asked tentatively, meeting the other's searching gaze. "You love me?" His breath got lost somewhere on the path from his lungs to his mouth and he could still feel that love, filling each corner of his dark heart. He wanted to ask, "Why?" and "What did I do to deserve you?" but didn't think Aziraphale would very much like that.  
  
His angel was smiling now, giggling happily, his curls bouncing and Crowley realized with a start he was allowed to look now, maybe even touch. He burrowed a hand in the other's soft hair, eyes never leaving the blue shining orbs that were beckoning him.  
  
"Just kiss me, you silly old snake," Aziraphale sighed against him and the demon almost pointed out that the other had been the same, almost running away after confessing to him. He didn't, because he knew the look the angel would give him and besides he had something more important to do with his mouth.  
  
They kissed. They had kissed a million times before and it had never failed to steal their breath away. Now, it was different. It almost seemed like their souls were reaching out, trying to escape their bodies, and mingling, until no one could tell what was whose anymore. Crowley's hands were pressing against clothes, tracing curves he had dreamed of for centuries. His fingers burnt to snap those buttons open and touch warm skin but he couldn't, not even when the urgency of it all suffocated him. He couldn't go too fast, not again, not when it was this important.  
  
"No," the angel growled against his lips, the vibration making Crowley shudder before he considered the meaning of that word and his eyes snapped open, hands snatching back. Aziraphale's features softened suddenly, a finger coming to trace along the demon's jaw, before Crowley had had any time to wonder what had happened, what had he fucked up again. Before he could beg for another chance. "None of this now, please," the other sounded breathless and Crowley wanted to kiss him again, and push him against the wall, and have him, like he had never allowed himself to have him. Instead, he stood patiently. Aziraphale sighed, "My love, don't hold yourself back on my account. I want to feel all of you."  
  
Another shudder wrecked Crowley's body. He wasn't sure if because of the words, that endearment that fell from the angel's lips as if it _belonged_ or maybe the way the other's fingertips were pressed just below the snake sign, a warning for everyone to stay away but Aziraphale had never been very good with orders. He leaned down to press their lips together, but a hand was quick to tangle in his red locks and hold him back as the angel stared pointedly at his mouth.  
  
It took Crowley a second to understand what was asked of him and he did it, almost shyly. He hadn't wanted to scare off the other nor remind him of his true nature, not now, minutes after he had slammed him into a wall and went full demon on him. But at the sight of that forked tongue, flicking out on its own accord to taste the air, the heat between their bodies, Aziraphale sighed contently and tugged him closer. It was almost as if Crowley hadn't needed to worry, after all.  
  
"You do know that I love you so, my dear demon, don't you?" The angel had no business sounding so proper, so reverent, as he stood there, his waistcoat gone, his bow tie askew and shirt half opened. Crowley couldn't even remember undressing him, but he must have, because there was a tear on the side of the shirt and oh, Aziraphale would make him pay for that, tomorrow.  
  
The demon knew what was expected of him to say. He _had_ felt the love, had stored it in the dark corners of his soul, wasn't sure he would ever stop feeling it. But he had spent millennia knowing he would never be loved, that he _couldn't be_ , that even Aziraphale was not that forgiving. And some habits were so hard to kill.  
  
He laughed, pressing their foreheads together, but it sounded like a sob. "No. No, I really don't. The only reason I don't believe I'm still in Hell is that none of those bastards would have enough imagination to make a demon do what you asked me to- try to feel your love as only an angel could. And we would need to talk about this, all of it, later, when this bloody mess is behind us. For now just-"  
  
Crowley waved a hand helplessly between them but it was enough for Aziraphale to understand, draw him close.  
  
Tomorrow, they would have to face Heaven and Hell but for now, nothing mattered. Nothing but the way their bodies fit together, finally complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done!! I cannot believe this! Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story and all the support and the comments and the kudos, it is honestly unbelievable! I really hope you liked the ending, after everything I put us all through.
> 
> About the story, there most probably will be another chapter with some smut but this was starting to get a biiit too long and I do draw the line at 6k words. It will be a little angsty, because we know each other by now, and I'm incapable of writing anything without angst. But the story, as a whole, is done! They finally know about the other's love and they will be happy forever and ever!


	14. Sunday

_Sunday_  
  
"Crowley," Aziraphale sighed tentatively against cherry red lips, careful, knowing that the demon would take even the smallest sign as him not wanting this.  
  
Despite this, Crowley was drawing back, taking away the warmth and the love that had been cradling the angel. He looked so small, so uncertain. So wary.  
  
"Too fast, angel?" the demon asked, repeating words that had hurt them both so much and Aziraphale made a silent vow to himself.  
  
They had both been so careful. So very careful not to hurt the other and yet they had done nothing but. Seeing the cautiousness in amber eyes, the way the demon was fighting with himself not to draw Aziraphale back in his arms, like the angel _needed_ him to, and knowing he was the one at fault. Never again.  
  
Aziraphale shook his head. "I love this, my dear. I love you. But there is a doorknob digging in my back-"  
  
Before he could continue, the doorknob was gone, its absence making his body fall back against the door and Crowley was on him, teeth sinking into exposed flesh. It almost made Aziraphale forget what he had been getting at, the way the demon was drinking at him as if he was love and creation itself. Almost, because, unbelievably divine as this felt, it would feel even better in a-  
  
"Bed," the angel gasped hopelessly and then decidedly took the matters into his own hands.  
  
That is to say, he took Crowley's hand into his own and dragged him to the living room, where he stopped, suddenly unsure. Thankfully, this was the moment the other chose to leave his dazed stupor and Aziraphale found himself turned around, drawn into a kiss again. Almost as if the demon couldn't bear being apart from him, not after an eternity of _never more_ s and _nearly enough_ s. The angel shared the sentiment, the way he was grasping at the other's forearms as if he wanted to climb inside him, share his body, was more than enough proof. However, there was a whine on his tongue, an insistence they continue somewhere more pleasant, that quickly died before Aziraphale had even found the breath to voice it, when he realised he was also being moved backwards, towards what he assumed was the bedroom.  
  
Before he knew it, he was being pushed down a plush bed, and what else had he expected from Crowley really, dimly aware that all his clothes had parted with his body somewhere on the way there. Crowley was trying desperately to shed his tight jeans, hopping on one leg and it would have been funny. In fact, it would have been hilarious if not for the dark patch of hair he could see on the demon's chest, the taut muscles on his stomach. The strong thighs the angel had worshiped so many times, but now felt like he was seeing for the first time. Aziraphale whined, throat feeling impossibly dry and Crowley was on top of him in seconds, his mouth on his, giving the angel exactly what he wanted. Like he always did. But no, he hurried to remind himself, assure himself even, Crowley needed this just as much as he did.  
  
"What do you want, angel?" the demon breathed against heated skin. Everything else had felt different, new. And yet, a dance performed so many times, but never automatically, never without a sort of reverence Crowley had always carefully hidden away. This was always the same. Aziraphale asked and Crowley gave. His angel set the boundaries and he made sure to stay a good few feet away from them, just in case. "Anything you want, just tell me."  
  
Crowley tried not to press the other, difficult as it was, with the way pale skin glistened under him, flush with desire. The angel's eyes were wide and glazed, so beautiful, so pure, and there was something hard poking him in the stomach, that he burned to touch, kiss, anything. And if Aziraphale just said the words, he would.  
  
"What do _you_ want?" his angel asked and that was new. Aziraphale gazed at him, a soft smile on his lips, as he brought a hand to cup the side of the demon's face, thumb gently pressing against cheekbones. It should have felt strange, out of place in the sudden flurry of limbs and desperate press of lips and yet it didn't. Of course, it didn't. Everything the angel did, he did with the same tenderness, the same love towards everything. _Towards Crowley_.  
  
Aziraphale was looking at him, a question covered in the ivy of his desire and the demon realised he was supposed to answer. He laughed. It felt absurd that after everything that had happened, the angel asking him what he wanted would be his breaking point, but somehow it wasn't. There had been a million things he had pictured over the millennia, Aziraphale's affection, love, the unburdened need in his eyes, each more bizarre than the other. Never this. Never the angel so willing, so open. For him. Satan, he felt like he might cry as his useless mind ran circles around three little words.  
  
He shook his head. His smile was goofy, nothing like the usual well-measured smirk and yet he couldn't find it in himself to care.  
  
"Everything I have ever wanted is in my arms. I don't need anything else."  
  
Aziraphale flushed, pink dust blooming on his cheeks like a rose unfurling and Crowley realised he was allowed to taste it. Welcomed to, even. He had this, and if Aziraphale deemed him worthy, he would hold onto it for an eternity. The blush was sweet, like warmth and light, like every other part of the angel and it was distracting enough that he barely noticed the body under him shifting slightly, legs parting to allow him closer. Which is why, when two strong thighs wrapped around his waist and dragged him closer, his resolve slipped, just for a second, as he let his hips jerk forward. The wreckage of a moan wrestled from his lips when he found himself so close to something he had been desperate for for centuries.  
  
"Are you certain you don't want anything?" And Aziraphale was teasing, there was no other way to explain this. The angel shifted his hips, bringing Crowley's cock even closer to his own. If the other lifted himself just slightly, the demon would be so close to a different heat and it made his mouth go dry.  
  
"Are you sure?" His voice, nails on a chalkboard, as his body trembled in the effort to not move, not assume anything. He wanted, Satan help him, he had _always_ wanted but they had never- "It's not like it's the end of the world, angel, I can wait. I don't mind if we just fool around a bit."  
  
' _We have all the time in the world. I will make sure of it_ ,' he wanted to say. ' _Believe in me, even when everyone else is against us_.'  
  
In a way, he did. Aziraphale beamed at him and his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes held galaxies that screamed, _'Forever_ '.  
  
Crowley let his hands trace soft curves, fingertips pushing slightly to feel the hardness underneath as his lips worshiped every inch of skin they could reach without the demon moving. It felt like a dream, a fantasy he had relived so many times and part of him was screaming for him to hurry up, take whatever he could before he woke up. But he couldn't. This, this was everything he had ever needed and he savoured every kiss, every touch and every moan that fell from Aziraphale's lips.  
  
Which was why, when he heard the slightest hitch in the other's breath, the angel's body freezing in the time a butterfly needed to flutter its wings, the disappointment he felt was towards himself. Somehow, he had made Aziraphale feel like he had to give him this, he had pushed beyond the other's limits and he still didn't know, hadn't dared ask, how many times the angel had just let him have something he hadn't been ready to give.  
  
He lifted his head, eyes piercing yet reassuring, narrowing when the angel shook his head, trying to act as if nothing had happened. Under Crowley's stare, Aziraphale dropped his gaze, his cheeks turning crimson but it wasn't the same delicious one from before. This one's whimper sounded like a wounded dog's, like shame and dread.  
  
"I need to confess something, my dear," the angel finally murmured, words that would have otherwise been lost seconds after leaving his lips, had Crowley not been listening so intently. "I don't- I mean, I would hate for you to be disappointed."  
  
The demon dipped down, a soft kiss to each eyelid he hoped would erase the horrid doubt in those beautiful eyes.  
  
"I don't care," he whispered and found that it was true. He had, long ago it seemed, when he had thought he would never have this. When he had laid awake and imagined someone else holding his angel, seeing full lips form those three words, and knowing _he_ never would. But Aziraphale was his now, would be for a very long time, if Crowley had any say in the matter. There was nothing more important. "I wouldn't care even if you had a snake nest down there," he teased lightly. "It would certainly make things more interesting."  
  
"A snake nest?" Aziraphale scrunched his nose and the demon hurried to lay a kiss on it, followed by one on his temple, making the angel's worry lines disappear and, instead, coaxing a giggle out of him. "I would have thought that would be more your thing."  
  
Crowley hummed, too busy with his sudden task of erasing with kisses any trace of the angel's anguish from his face. He had certainly never minded some experimentation, although he had, up until now, limited himself to the human genders. But even though he knew it was said in jest, he couldn't argue he would do anything, if his angel so much as blinked in his direction.  
  
"Crowley," Aziraphale eventually sighed. The demon loved that, it never failed to send a shiver down his spine, the reminder that the other wanted him. Not just anyone, but _him_. But there was something strange in Aziraphale's voice now, and it took his otherwise occupied mind a few seconds to register what exactly. This was the angel's serious voice, the one that demanded to be heard and Crowley let his fangs graze the nipple he had been nibbling on in the hopes it would be enough to distract him. It wouldn't be, he knew the other far too well, and he loved him far too much to continue, to tease, when he knew Aziraphale wanted to talk.  
  
With a sigh, Crowley let the nub fall from his mouth and straightened up, not missing the way the angel's chest twitched up, almost as if following him. It made him feel better, knowing that they weren't stopping, that he would be allowed to continue this, later. That Aziraphale wanted him, despite everything. He knew he shouldn't be surprised, he didn't have to marvel at every moment the other let him kiss and caress him but it was ingrained in him, that fear, running cold in his very soul for just as long as his love.  
  
"I don't care what you've done before me." Crowley let his fingers brush the angel's cheek as he gazed at him, willing the other to believe him. He tried to articulate how he felt but it came out jumbled and imperfect. Just like him. "I don't care who has touched you and who has loved you because I'm yours now. I have always been yours and nothing else matters anymore."  
  
It would have meant far more if Aziraphale knew how much he had cared _before_. But he didn't want him to, would never reveal that dark, possessive part of himself that wanted to tear the world and start anew, if only so they could be the only two beings in existence.  
  
The angel shifted again, and Crowley would have let himself delight in the sinful way his soft body pressed against his own, if there wasn't shame casting a shadow on perfect features.  
  
Aziraphale shook his head slowly and the demon knew the other wanted to drop his gaze but he didn't. He didn't because he knew it was important for Crowley and it made the demon love him just a little bit more.  
  
"I have never- There has only ever been you," the angel started, biting his lip and his eyes did lower for a second before returning, with defiance the other knew so very well and adored even more. "But I will learn and I will try to make it good for you, my dear. So please, don't- That is to say, if I- If I'm terrible at this, please don't-"  
  
Aziraphale's voice broke and the demon was sure his heart had suffered a similar fate. It was his own damn fault, he knew that. He had seen the way the angel shied away from his touch sometimes, would turn crimson at the slightest hint of a compliment. He had thought it was because his caress, his words were unwanted, that him being a lowly demon, he was undeserving of bestowing them upon the other. To actually assume the angel had been the one who thought he wasn't worthy of it... It just made him want to hold onto Aziraphale even tighter, to touch every inch of him, to kiss constellations into his skin. To tell him everything he had ever loved about him.  
  
"I love you." The words left his mouth, quiet and tender, like a forbidden prayer. He realized it was the first time he had ever said it and judging by the way Aziraphale's eyes widened, glistening, the angel had come to the same conclusion. It didn't matter. He would say it a thousand times over, he would show it a million times more. "I love _you_ because you are kind, because you are soft. Because you are the only Good thing that has ever come out of Heaven and I would be a fool, more than I usually am, my angel, if I didn't try to hoard even a speck of all the love you have in you."  
  
He dipped down, kissing the other's cheeks, erasing the existence of the tears streaming down blue eyes. They were sweet, born from happiness, he knew that, but it didn't make the way his heart clenched any less painful when he saw them.  
  
"You could never do anything I wouldn't welcome with an open heart. You could invite me to watch paint dry and I would be there in seconds, with a chocolate cake and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon," he tried to joke, delighted when the other's lips broke into a tentative smile. Crowley adored him. He felt his heart swell with so much love, love that no demon should feel, no, so much even an angel couldn't possibly have and yet there he was, trying to put it into words. "I love you and I need you and I would _never_ leave you, not now, not when I know how you sound saying those words back to me. How it feels when I'm _allowed_ to touch you, to kiss you, to _have_ you." And Aziraphale hadn't said he feared Crowley leaving, but the demon knew, he knew him too damn well to doubt it. He had been so fucking stupid to think otherwise, to cause so much pain, but luckily for him, he had an eternity to try to fix his mistake.  
  
"There's only ever been you," he repeated back. The angel must have known, he had seen inside his very soul, but he didn't want to leave anything to chance. Not anymore. Crowley realized he had done the right thing when the other froze under him, eyes narrowing slightly.  
  
Aziraphale felt stupid, as if he really was a slow child, like the other often teased him of. He had seen the love Crowley had for him, the reverence, the sheer _worship_. He had also heard the words the other had whispered against his skin just now, he had bathed in their warmth. Enjoyed the way they made his heart thump a happy dance. Yet there he was, questioning it. After vowing to himself to never doubt the demon's love lest he made the same mistake that had left them miserable for millennia. But it was easy, pruning Crowley's self-doubt. His, on the other hand, it was a forest, one he had sowed every seed of, watered them and tended for them as they grew, and now it seemed he couldn't see the Sun from their shade.  
  
"But I am-"  
  
"Gorgeous?" Crowley blinked at him with a teasing smirk just as Aziraphale whispered, "Nothing."  
  
The smile was gone now and the angel berated himself for ruining the moment. Why couldn't he keep his stupid mouth shut and enjoy this? Why couldn't he just burrow the self-hatred so deep inside him that it would never see the light of day again? But then again, hadn't they found themselves into this whole mess solely due to that particular habit of his?  
  
"You are beautiful," Crowley hissed, kissing him with a forcefulness that demanded to be heard. "You are fucking perfect." Aziraphale bit back a moan as a hand wrapped around his waist, lifting him as if he was nothing, and pressing him against the other's body. "Satan, you are the most adorable idiot. I have wanted to do this for 6 thousand years, how can you- even assume-"  
  
Aziraphale shook his head. He could see that, the demon desiring him when he still resembled a Heavenly soldier, when he was still pure Grace and Beauty and not _this_ \- the millennia walking this Earth making the line between ethereal and mortal all but disappear.  
  
Crowley looked at him, a quick flicker of his eyes, taking in his features and he knew. They had spent too long together for him not to and the angel should have felt vulnerable and raw open and perhaps he was. But it wasn't daunting, just, as if he had opened his soul and was now able to finally breathe.  
  
"Beautiful," Crowley insisted, fangs flashing for a second before they sunk above his collarbone, where neck met shoulder. Before any rational thought could pass through Aziraphale's head, his arms were winding around the other's neck, pushing him even closer as the demon licked apologetically at the flushed skin. "Remember Spain?" Crowley asked and actually waited for the angel to look at him, for the haze in his eyes to clear before he continued. "You, in those tiny shorts and your arms, your bloody _arms_ , angel." To emphasize his point, he ran his palms from shoulder to wrist, pushing at the skin slightly. "It took every ounce of willpower I have ever had not to push you in the sand and claim you there, the Apocalypse be damned. Everyone else be damned."  
  
"We could still-" Aziraphale's voice broke into a high-pitched moan when Crowley grazed his teeth over his shoulder, making him forget his own name for a second. "We can go back. Make it, ah, a proper vacation?"  
  
He didn't add, "If you want to," even if he was burning to give the other an exit. To not assume Crowley would like to spend time with him.  Instead, he forced himseld to offer, without fear, without reading himself for rejection beforehand. The demon must have heard the missing words from his invitation, because Aziraphale was rewarded by a hungry grin and a nod, before the other was dipping down to tear at his mouth.  
  
The angel was reduced to a moaning, whimpering mess as the other returned to his earlier ministration, kissing and biting at his skin. His arm fell across his face, stifling a whine when Crowley dug nail in his sides, forceful but never hurtful. Perfect. Aziraphale tried to shift his body, the delicious press of the demon's cock against his was maddening, but even more so was the utter lack of friction. Almost momentarily, the hand around his waist was tightening its grip, Crowley's other one splaying over his thigh, holding him down. Before he could whine in protest, or even realize what was happening, the demon was drawing away, kneeling between his open legs and the angel shuddered at the sudden cold.  
  
Aziraphale tried to lift himself on his elbows, the question dying on his lips as soon as the other pushed him down, the demon's palm- a burning beacon on his stomach, so close yet as if light years away from where he needed him. Instead he whined, pathetically, pleadingly, as Crowley positioned one of the angel's legs above his shoulder. He would have moved, opened himself even more, but the hand was still there and he knew what the demon wanted of him. It wouldn't matter in the end, if he offered himself, invited the other or Crowley just took him, although one of those scenarios certainly made his cock weep. As long as it ended how the angel ached for.  
  
Which made this even more frustrating when the demon just wrapped long fingers around his ankle and tugged, before placing a kiss on his calf. Aziraphale felt his breath burn in his throat, stuck, as he watched the other's forked tongue run over his flesh, his fangs scraping teasingly, leaving welts. When Crowley reached his knee, caress lazy and languid as if he wasn't so _close_ to where the angel wanted him, as if Aziraphale wasn't begging to be touched, he wept openly. He wanted desperately to thrust himself close, could almost feel the demon's scalding lips on his cock, but he couldn't. The hand was still there, rubbing circles on his stomach that were probably supposed to be soothing, but just managed to make him want more.  
  
When finally, finally, Crowley's teeth dragged over the pale skin on his thighs, marking it, Aziraphale thought he might just fall apart from the anticipation. The demon was so close, just a little bit more, and he had been so good, he hadn't moved a muscle so surely Crowley would not continue this punishment.  
  
"Do you know," the other started, glancing up at him as if for the first time in forever and Aziraphale realised he wouldn't fall apart. No, he would melt away, from the sheer heat in those blazing fire pits directed at him. "What happens to people who say awful things about _my_ angel?"  
  
The words were dangerous and sharp and Aziraphale couldn't help the way his whole body shuddered, his self control slipping only for a second, but enough for his hips to twitch.  
  
"I'm certain you will show me, love," he gasped around a moan just as Crowley laid an open-mouthed kiss on his hipbone.  
  
The demon tutted, letting go of the leg and Aziraphale was too weak, too weightless, to fight the way his whole body fell back on the bed.  
  
"That was entirely too coherent for my liking, angel." With a smile Aziraphale didn't trust one bit, Crowley picked up his other leg. Somehow, impossible as it had seemed, the demon went even slower than before, his tongue mapping sweaty skin. He still looked so composed, not a hair out of place and if it wasn't for the occasional moan, burried between kisses, or the way his nails were digging into the angel's stomach, still holding him down, the angel would have thought the other was unaffected.  
  
A dangerous glint in his eyes came to life as he opened his thighs just slightly. He could use that, the fact that Crowley wanted this just as much as he did.  
  
"Please," he begged. He wrapped his fingers around the arm on his stomach, palm running over the other's forearm, the little hairs there tickling. And, oh, how wrong he had been when he had thought to use this to tease the demon. Momentarily overwhelmed, he couldn't stop the way his body thrust back, his backside colliding with something hard and hot and, God save him, dripping.  
  
"Please, Crowley, oh, just," he pleaded again, voice wild, no trace of the previous well-measured need. No, the need was overflowing now, mixed with desperation and just a drop of a whine. It still failed to faze the other.  
  
"You are going to come like this," the demon whispered, followed by a particularly deep drag of his teeth. It wasn't a question, it didn't leave any room for argument, and even if it did Aziraphale wasn't sure he would have been able to produce anything other than a pathetic whimper. "I'm going to show you just how perfect you are and you are going to come without me touching you."  
  
Crowley looked at him, before dipping down to nibble at his other hipbone. His lips were red, and so soft, and Aziraphale wanted them on him, please, right now.  
  
"Do you think you can manage that for me, angel?" Crowley asked, his hoarse voice the only contradiction against his apparent indifference.  
  
The angel almost feared those words would be the death of him, the way they made his heart jump in his chest. He didn't even try fighting the shiver that overtook him, all of his hairs standing to attention, the nape of his neck turning prickly. Aziraphale nodded, because of course he did, there was nothing the other could want from him, now or ever, that he wouldn't be willing to give. Crowley's teeth flashed, the only warning the angel was allowed before plush lips were wrapping around his cock.  
  
Had his brain not melted right out of his ears, Aziraphale would have probably screamed. As it were, he tried to focus on simply not choking on air, stuck in that moment of everything and yet simply not enough. He was weightless, light as a feather, but also burning, as if everything Crowley had touched was molten iron. The angel felt heat pool in his belly, so quick it made him feel lightheaded, and he couldn't even flush from the realisation that the other's lips around him, the single stroke of a forked tongue around his cock, would be his undoing.  
  
It wasn't. Before Aziraphale could even settle into the sensation and let the pleasure wash over him, the demon was moving, laying languid kisses on his stomach now. A tongue caressing his rolls, and the angel twitched again, but for an entirely different reason. He wanted to move away, cover himself, hide, but the fingers were digging at his sides like an iron vice. The hitch in his voice, a blink and you will miss it, something that should have been drowned by the moans dripping from his mouth and yet Crowley had heard it. Of course he had. The demon didn't move from his position, nor did he pause his gentle ministrations, not until he had the other writhing in his clutches, unabashed, entirely unconscious of the imperfections of his body. It wasn't nearly enough to fight millennia of self-doubt, but it was a start and it wasn't as if the demon had minded it terribly.  
  
When Crowley finally moved, his scorching lips finally tracing heaving chest, Aziraphale felt that white-hot burning return, spreading from his stomach until it covered every inch of his skin, much like the other had done. He yanked on copper strands, delighting in the way the demon moaned petulantly when he was forced to abandon the nipple he had been sucking on, and crashed their mouths together. The moment Crowley's lips were on his, kissing him with such hunger as if the other hadn't just spent what felt like eternities already doing that, Aziraphale was coming undone. He felt the pleasure rip out of him, magnified by the way the demon was pressing his whole body closer, his burning skin flush against the angel's kissed-anew one. There was a sound, high-pitched and not entirely human, not entirely angelic for that matter, that could have shattered the glass around them, had Crowley not swallowed it hungrily.  
  
After what must have been centuries, after Crowley had managed to wring out the last moan out of bitten red lips and the last spasm out of that delicious body, the demon carefully moved away and rearranged his limbs so he was gently wrapped around the still trembling angel. He waved a hand, erasing the cooling mess on both of their stomachs, then brought Aziraphale even closer, pressing his lips against soft curls before he propped his chin on them. There was an insistent throbbing in his body that seemed to come from his very soul, and he was so close, so damn close he wasn't entirely convinced he wouldn't need much more than the angel wrapping his fingers around him to come, as pathetic as that might have been. Yet, he felt strangely content. It had all been for Aziraphale, after all, his stupid gorgeous angel that apparently was in need of glasses, _functional ones_.  
  
"Crowley?" said moronic angel mumbled into his neck and he tried to bite back the sob the warm breath on his skin caused. He did have some dignity left.  
  
"Hmm?" He pressed another kiss to the other's hair and Go-Satan, how could someone's smell be so intoxicating? Crowley let his eyes drift closed, letting the moment lull him with its softness.  
  
Lips wrapped around that particular spot on his throat, sucking lightly and reminding him of that still insistent ache between his legs.  
  
"I think," Aziraphale breathed softly against him, and, Satan he sounded so innocent and somehow, Crowley just knew that whatever he was about to say, would be far from it, "I think you ought to fuck me now."  
  
And whatever the demon had thought it would be, he had not been prepared for _this_. Familiar warmth spread through his body as his hips bucked of their own accord, once, twice, before he managed to press the heel of his hand against himself. Only then did he realize he had forgotten to breathe, and he gulped in air desperately.  
  
"Sssatan, angel, you can't jussst _sssay_ that," he hissed, voice shaking just as much as his body. He felt more than heard the giggle pressed in the nook of his neck and there was a warm hand burrowing between his thighs, the angel's thumb teasingly running over the heated flesh.  
  
"Or perhaps, I can take care of this first, if you would like me to?" The hand inched up, just slightly, and Crowley growled. He had known, of course, that he would pay for the way he had teased his angel. He just hadn't thought it would be that soon.  
  
"Are you trying to dissscorporate me?" He tried to sound angry, but by the way his words wavered, breath hitching when Aziraphale untangled himself away and pushed him on his back, he wasn't so sure he had managed.  
  
The angel hovered over him, pressing light kisses on his face and neck that only managed to make Crowley growl in frustration. He got it, thank you, but at least his teasing had had a _point_. Thankfully, Aziraphale didn't have half the patience the demon had had, and wasn't that a thought, because in mere minutes he was nuzzling the other's cock, soft whimpers falling from his lips that drove Crowley wild.    
  
The angel looked at him shyly, his eyes round, red lips parted, the perfect picture of innocence, and it made his next words so much more hard-hitting.  
  
"Can you please? Like in the Versailles?" To emphasise his point, Aziraphale intertwined their fingers, before dropping them on top of his white curls. Crowley thought he might die. No, he thought that he had died, because surely, no matter how occult he was, his heart was but human and he was not sure it could handle this all. But his angel was looking at him, eager and already panting slightly, and he let his desire take control. Curling his fingers around the other's locks, he nudged him gently. It seemed that was all the invitation his angel needed before he was dipping down and swallowing him whole.  
  
The only reason Crowley didn't come right there, right then was the fact that it would have been pathetic, a horrible waste, and it would be a nice day in Hell before his body stopped obeying him completely. Still, he had been very close, the moment lips wrapped around his length and he had to close his eyes, the sight of it far too unbearable. Aziraphale moaned, the rumbling as if shaking the demon to his very core, and Crowley knew what the other was saying. What he was threatening, really. He fixed his gaze on his angel's bobbing head, flashing amber eyes meeting teasing blue ones, and for his effort he was awarded with a particular clever twist of Aziraphale's tongue that would have made a lesser demon combust.  
  
He was so close, the heat and the warmth making him feel like he was too big for his skin. Yet, what was turning this so devastatingly tempting was the realisation that here his angel was, doing this to him, enjoying him in the most carnal of ways and not because he knew Crowley would want it. No, Aziraphale was doing it because _he_ desired it, he was getting as much pleasure as the demon, if the way he was whimpering was any indicator. His fingers flexed on top of the angel's head, not really daring to push him over his limit just yet, even though Aziraphale had asked him to, even though Crowley didn't think he could last a lot longer. But they had all the time in the world, he would be able to do everything he had ever wanted to his Aziraphale. Satan, he could pin his angel to a wall, hold him down and fuck his mouth before dragging him back to his feet and- No, this was not helping his situation, not one bit.  
  
His hips jerked up, pushing him deeper into the tight heat, before he manage to get them under control, and there was a tiny growl coming from between his legs. Aziraphale was staring at him, a pinch between his eyebrows even as he bobbed his head slowly, teasingly, and Crowley had to blink a few times if only to stop the image before it became too much. But he knew what was being asked of him and he tightened his grip, slightly first, allowing for the other to escape. When all that met him was the flutter of eyelashes, he dared to put some force behind his hold and yank the angel down. For one terrible moment he thought he might have gone too far as he felt the throat around him tighten and manicured nails dig into the inside of his thigh. But then Aziraphale was looking at him, eyes hazy and lust-blown and it seemed this was all the permission he had been waiting for.  
  
Crowley gripped him tight, the other's body like a rag-doll's under his fingers, and damn it, if that just didn't make it so much more sinful, the way his angel put himself in his hands, trusting, open. It took just a few thrusts and the most delicious sounds the demon had ever heard falling from the other's mouth and he was coming. It should have felt slightly pathetic and he might have been embarrassed by the way he hissed and squirmed, more snake than a man, but Aziraphale was looking at him, open adoration glistening in his eyes. And for a moment it felt like nothing Crowley would ever do could ever be wrong.  
  
His angel plopped next to him, and he lifted an arm, invitingly. As if another lifetime ago, he would have never considered this. Cuddling had always been a rare treat, something he looked forward to, bestowed upon him only in the darkest of nights when he knew Aziraphale was too spent to think straight. Now he did it automatically, because he could, because it was welcomed and the thought made his poor, tortured heart beat just a tad faster.  
  
He felt the smirk against his chest before he even heard the question. "Well, my dear?"  
  
"I had forgotten how blessed insatiable you are," Crowley growled. He hadn't. Aziraphale, thrashing in his arms, begging for more, his body turning soft and pliant with exhaustion, it had featured in his nightmares for decades now. He had been so damn certain he would never have this, never be _allowed_ this again.  
  
Aziraphale hummed against his skin, wiggling even closer and bringing him back to the reality that mattered. The one that had his angel in it. "Do you recall Florence?" he asked suddenly as he hooked one leg over the demon's thighs, pressing himself in a way that made it apparent just how enjoyable the previous act had been for him. It made Crowley's mind go blank for a second and the only reason he was able to even string a thought together was because the other expected it of him.  
   
"1895?"  
  
Another puff against his skin, which Crowley took for an affirmation. "There was this nice young lady I was supposed to steer in the right direction and you-"  
  
Aziraphale lifted his head slightly, his curls tickling the demon's neck.  
  
"Tempting a priest," Crowley supplied quickly. Even if the warm weight of the love of his existence above him was not making it particularly hard to think, he wasn't sure he would have been able to recall the lie he had told more than a century ago. Aziraphale just hummed against him. His manicured fingers were drawing a pattern on the demon's chest and every time they dipped slightly lower, Crowley could feel his breath hitch.  
  
It had happened just after his nap, those tears still fresh in his mind, making him forget just long enough that Aziraphale didn't love him, didn't need him like Crowley did. He had known he was acting like a stalker, more so than usual, and he couldn't even use the excuse that he had been watching over his angel. No, he had followed him because he couldn't bear the thought of Aziraphale being away from him and he had let the other notice him because... Because Florence was an amazingly romantic city and he was demon enough that he could admit to himself, at least now, that he had wanted to explore it with his angel.  
  
Not that they had seen much of the city anyway.  
  
Aziraphale rolled his hips languidly, his cock dragging against Crowley's thigh and making him hiss. "Lord, we spent the whole time in that tiny hotel room."  
  
The demon let his hand snake around the other's leg, digging his nails into the softness, before pulling him closer. Satan, the angel was wet already, and Crowley could only hope that the whimper that fell from his lips at the realisation had been drowned by the guttural noise Aziraphale made at being pressed flush against his body.    
  
"I kissed you until all I could ever remember tasting was you," Crowley growled, enjoying the shiver that danced across the other's skin. His other hand curled around white locks and he yanked Aziraphale's head back, before dragging him into a hungry kiss. The movement against his thigh was no longer tentative, there was a certain desperation behind every thrust now and it made the demon's mouth go dry.  
  
The angel broke the kiss, lips moving to mouth at Crowley's jaw. He couldn't see them, but he could _feel_ their corners twitch and he knew that didn't bode well for him.  
  
"Imagine that," Aziraphale murmured against that spot on his neck, softly, innocently. Far too innocently. "Close to a week we spent in each other's arms and now all it takes is one orgasm. I think perhaps you are getting old, my-"  
  
The angel's words turned into a giggle, his morose facade slipping as Crowley flipped them with a hiss. Aziraphale's laughter was free, unconstrained, spilling from his lips like champagne and the demon lapped at it, like someone who had spent the entirety of Earth's history wishing he could hear it.  
  
"I love you," Crowley whispered once he broke the kiss. He had meant to say something equally teasing, maybe remind the angel of that time in New York during the 20s. But when he saw blue eyes widen in wonder, shining as if they contained whole galaxies within them, he was glad that he hadn't. "Are you sure about this? I don't want you to-"  
  
He didn't finish his sentence, he didn't need to. There was a reason why they had never done this before. In the beginning of their Arrangement, Crowley had promised himself he wouldn't take too much, a kiss here, a soft caress there. But he was a demon, he had grown greedy and his angel had welcomed it eagerly, giving himself to Crowley, always so open, so trusting that it used to make his heart ache. But never this. No, the thought of Aziraphale suffering had been enough to stop him every time they had gotten even close to something like this. He had been selfish and he had thought himself stupid for even trying to delude himself Aziraphale would ever desire his touch, but he could never hurt his angel.  
  
Strong arms wrapped around his neck, tugging him down, not that he needed too much persuasion.  
  
"How could I Fall if I love you so dearly, my Crowley? I want you. In every possible way, I want _you_." The words were soft, a gentle breeze against his lips, before Aziraphale was kissing him. It made Crowley wonder how the Heaven had he gotten so lucky, to have the most amazing creature that had ever been created love him so. There was a bubble of panic floating inside his chest, making it hard to breathe, a tumble of all the reasons why his perfect angel couldn't possible, and yet there he was, Crowley reminded his stupid mind. There his Aziraphale was, gazing at him softly, loving him so openly, and he must have done something to deserve it.  
  
Aziraphale tried to relax into the kiss, even as his heart felt it might leap out of his body in anticipation when he felt a slick finger press against him. He kept his features relaxed, knowing that his demon would stop the moment he felt even the smallest hint of hesitation from him. Crowley looked at him, his eyes searching, making sure, always making sure and he nodded. After a few long moments, in which he assumed the demon was giving him time to change his mind, and God, how had Aziraphale ever doubted the other's love for him, the digit was slowly pushing inside him.  
  
It felt... strange. He shifted his hips slightly as he tried to get used to the sensation of being stretched so unfamiliarly, of the slight burn of it all. And he must have taken too long to react because Crowley was gently easing out his finger, while pressing what were probably supposed to be soothing kisses all over his face. There was slight annoyance gnawing at him, but it was quickly replaced by want, when Crowley moved, scratching at his insides and making him moan unabashedly. The demon's head snapped up, his amber eyes wide as he moved the finger again, this time crooking it slightly and Aziraphale's body considered melting a reasonable way to deal with the stimulation. The angel tried to get himself under control, just enough, and there was a strangled sound pouring out of him as he pressed into the hand. It could have been a whine or it could have been a plea, he was far too gone to make the difference and he dared not think how it would feel when he had Crowley inside of him.  
  
The finger moved a few times, slowly at first, as the demon watched him intently, eyes flickering over his face, searching for any sign of discomfort. When Aziraphale continued being his wailing mess of need, Crowley turned bolder, thrusting into him in a way that managed to be both punishing and extremely gentle, all the while lapping at any skin he could reach. It was unbearable, it was beyond Heavenly, and Aziraphale felt as if every nerve ending of his body was firing off all at once, incessantly.  
  
Looking at Crowley didn't offer any relief. The angel gazed at him, seeking that grounding feeling that never failed to envelop his heart when they were close, the knowledge the other would always be with him. But now it proved to be a little too much, the demon looking at him, so softly as if he was something precious in his arms and Aziraphale cried out, arching his back. He let his hands slide over the other's shoulders, down his arms, then up again, mapping the skin. It was fire under his touch, delicious Hellfire and he barely noticed when Crowley slipped another finger inside him. He did notice, however, when the demon moved them, opened them slightly, making Aziraphale thrust against them violently.  
  
"Not yet, angel," Crowley whispered gently, his own voice coming out like a broken prayer. Aziraphale pouted, unsure whether it was because the other had read his mind or because he had been denied something he had wanted possibly ever since he knew what want was.  
  
Not even the angel's soft, imploring eyes were able to change Crowley's mind. The demon shook his head again, causing a sob to fall from Aziraphale's lips. They had time, the angel thought, resolving himself to his fate. Crowley could, would, take him, as gentle or as rough as he wanted and he would welcome it, gasp and writhe into it. For now, he let himself sink into the tenderness of the moment, of how careful and soft Crowley was with him, while the angel kissed and touched him, trying to press even an ounce of his love into the other's being.  
  
Two fingers turned into three and at the end of it all Aziraphale was openly sobbing, his thighs shaking from fighting the urge to curl around the other's waist and drag him closer. Even Crowley was so close to giving in, the angel could taste it on the tip of his tongue, could see it in the way red hair was plastered on a sweaty forehead. In the way the lithe body above him was trembling, as if every atom trying to match the angel's own frequency.  
  
"Crowley," he pleaded. His nails sunk in the demon's back, probably leaving marks, when the fingers curled inside him, grazing that spot the other had been relentlessly teasing for what seemed like centuries. He could have wept with relief when Crowley nodded and eased his fingers out, quickly, shaking in his own desperation. Aziraphale would have winced at the sudden emptiness if his body wasn't burning with anticipation.  
  
Suddenly, Crowley's cock was pressing against him, pushing inside him, and the angel didn't know if he was crying out with the need of it all or if he was holding his breath, drowning. It wasn't just the physical sensation, even if Aziraphale was sure that would have been more than enough to push him over the edge alone. Crowley was stretching him, deep and warm and pulsing inside him, scraping at his walls and the spot that made constellations dance behind the angel's eyelids. Heaven forgive him, or rather, not, since he no longer cared about their opinion, but he had spent so many nights trying not to imagine this. It was not that surprising how much better it was, he could have never dreamed of the way Crowley would look, his skin flushed and glistening, how he would sound, biting down on delicious moans. How he would feel as his thighs trembled, even now, as he still tried to be gentle and not ram into the other's welcoming body, just as how Aziraphale was begging him to.  
  
But there was something else in the air, something that accompanied the joining of their bodies. The angel could feel that same love seeping out of the other, no longer contained in the strict lines of Crowley's soul, spilling between them like sweet wine. It was intoxicating, making Aziraphale's head swim and as if turning every movement into something so much more delicious, wrapped around them like a cocoon.  
  
He rolled his hips in a desperate urge for the other to move and was awarded by a hiss.  
  
"I ssswear to Sssomeone, angel, if you don't ssstop," Crowley scowled at him, his thrusts still maddeningly slow. The threat, if it could even be considered that, just made Aziraphale grin. He loved his demon, simply adored how careful he always was, but there was a time and a place for that, and it wasn't now.  
  
He wrapped his legs tighter around the demon's waist and dragged the other's body closer so suddenly, Crowley swayed forward before bracing a hand next to the angel's head. Using his new leverage, Aziraphale pushed back, his backside meeting the demon's every thrust and setting up a far more punishing pace. With a hiss, Crowley's head fell on top of the angel's, so close he could feel the raggedness of the other's breath against his cheek. The demon kissed him in a desperate flurry of tongue and too-long teeth and the love was pulsing between them now, so thick Aziraphale thought he might drown in it. Even as he gasped for air, he doubted he would mind that much.  
  
"Don't you dare," Aziraphale growled when he saw a question in yellow eyes, moments after he had cried out when those brutal thrusts made Crowley brush against his prostate. He tightened the hold he had on the other's neck. "Please."  
  
Wordlessly, Crowley nodded as he finally, _finally_ picked up the pace and Aziraphale felt he might come undone. It was as if every thrust was ripping at the seams that were holding him together, that were stopping his essence from spilling out of his stupidly mortal body and he had wanted this for so very long. Yet, he hadn't, in a way, he hadn't even dared to dream Crowley would be holding him so tightly, kissing him so feverishly, whispering sweet nothings in his hair. He could have never imagined the love that cradled him, that ancient feeling, worshiping every atom of his being.  
  
A hand wrapped around him and it was too much. He was coming, the desire bubbling inside him like a star exploding. There might have been wings around him, he might have been babbling in a forgotten language, as old as they were, but he was far too gone to care. What he could feel, what was _important_ , was the way Crowley hissed in their kiss, deliciously so, and there was something warm spilling inside him, that made Aziraphale arch his back and ask for more.  
  
"I love you, you sweet old serpent," the angel whispered in the other's chest, moments later, as he let himself be arranged in the demon's embrace, too exhausted to do anything other than enjoy the waves of pleasure.                                                                             
  
He felt Crowley shrug a shoulder nonchalantly, as if suddenly remembering his aloof persona. With his wild hair and still flushed skin, his cherry red lips and heaving chest, he was anything but. Yet, Aziraphale let him have this as he sunk in his arms, smiling softly.

* * *

  
  
_Wednesday_  
  
Crowley was brushing his teeth. He didn't really need to but there was something soothing in such an entirely human concept. He was also pacing back and forth between his bathroom and his bedroom. He told himself it was because he was still worried Heaven might return for his angel. His angel who was now sleeping soundly, curled around one of Crowley's pillow, his nightshirt bunching up at his soft thighs, not that the demon was staring. Yes, he was worried, was all.  
  
It certainly was not, and it was irrational, he could admit this to himself, because every second now, he was expecting his angel to come to his senses and leave, now when they no longer needed each other. Now when they were free to do whatever they wanted, be with whomever they wanted. It was stupid, moronic, idiotic, he had felt the love, he could see it in Aziraphale's eyes every time he looked at him. But the demon still felt it was a trick somehow. He still avoided the conversation about the past six millennia, as if scared that talking about it would somehow break the spell.  
  
It was during one of those anxiety-induced trips when his eyes fell on top of a statue of a bird, wings open mid-flight. He stared. It had been so long ago that he had snuck in that ruined church and taken it, he had almost forgotten he had it. Why he had it. The day had been awful, all of them had been, when his angel was still asleep, and fueled by alcohol and his own brand of self-hatred, but mostly alcohol, he had stolen it. He had put it in his hallway, somewhere he would always be able to see it to remind himself that no matter what he did, no matter how good he tried to be, his angel would never love him. That Aziraphale knew him like nobody else had or ever would, he knew just how wretched and broken and damned the demon was.  
  
But now Crowley stared at it as if seeing it anew. The memory of that night swam in his consciousness, different now, coloured by recently acquired knowledge. He almost ran back into the bedroom, miracling away the toothbrush and all evidence of his previous activity. Aziraphale was still snoring lightly, clutching at the pillow and Crowley had to remind himself he could not, reasonably, be jealous of a pillow. Especially not now, when he had just realised that his angel, curled on silk sheets would, most probably, be his forever.  
  
"You said you loved me," he said softly, sitting on the bed. There was glee in his voice, excitement he didn't even bother covering up. Not now.  
  
He watched as Aziraphale stirred, stretching out a hand blindly towards the source of the voice, which Crowley gladly grasped, intertwining their fingers. It made something warm bloom in the demon's chest, to see the other reach out for him, seeking his touch before anything else. His angel blinked hazy-with-sleep eyes at him and beamed.  
  
"My love, at some point you would have to stop sounding so surprised."  
  
Crowley brought their fingers to his mouth, kissing the other's knuckles and revering in the way Aziraphale gasped, shifted closer. He shook his head.  
  
"Not now. 1941. After the church. You said that you loved me and I- I played it off as a joke." Crowley shook his head again. The warmth in his chest was bleeding out, replaced by a vice now, squeezing him painfully. "I could have had this for so long, decades, centuries even, if I had just let myself _hear_ you."  
  
His angel let go of his fingers, and for a terrible moment Crowley listened to that part of his mind that was telling him, ' _You've done it now, you sorry bastard. You've reminded him it was your fault'_. But before he could even dwell on it, the hand was now wrapping around his cheek, holding him with such tenderness he felt something warm sting his eyes.  
  
"That may be so, my dear, but I was no better. Everything you have ever done, every single word you have ever said to me, should have showed me how much you care for me. I suppose we were both idiots, too blind to see what was right in front of us."  
  
Aziraphale smiled at him, soft and adoring, as if this, this moment, was exactly what he had always dreamed of. And as Crowley bent down to kiss him he allowed himself the idea that maybe it was. Maybe he could let himself accept that his perfect, lovely angel did love him.  
  
Always had.                                                                                                                                     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it, some well-deserved smut! They had their happy ending(s) or as happy as they can have it with me writing them, but, oh, well. They are working on it! With words, can you imagine?
> 
> I know it's been quite a while since the last update. I was almost dreading writing the last chapter because that would mean saying goodbye to this story and I loved letting those two torture themselves so much. But I really couldn't let them suffer any longer, they might be idiots but even they are not _that_ stupid.
> 
> Also, I want to say once again, thank you to everyone who has supported this story, gave it kudos, commented or simply read and liked it. Thank you so much, it really means the world to me!
> 
> Edit: Hey guys, just wanted to let you know I have finally started the Tumblr. [Here it is](https://waitingtobebroken.tumblr.com/) if you want to come cry with me about Ineffable Idiots


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